Traded All My Empties In, Bought Myself a Future
by Tarafina
Summary: Tim Riggins is celebrating twenty-two years of sobriety; he reflects on his life, the ups and downs, and the family he never thought he'd get.
1. i

**Title**: Traded All My Empties In (Bought Myself A Future)  
**Category**: Friday Night Lights  
**Genre**: Drama/Family/Humor/Romance  
**Ship**: Tim/Julie  
**Rating**: Explicit/NC-17 (This is a scrubbed up version, since FFnet doesn't allow explicit material; to find the mature version, find me on AO3 or LJ)  
**Notes**: This was written as a oneshot, but it became so long that I had to break it up into pieces for easier reading. It's finished and I'll be posting regularly.  
**Word** **Count**: 4,731  
**Summary**: Tim Riggins is celebrating twenty-two years of sobriety; he reflects on his life, the ups and downs, and the family he never thought he'd get.

**_Traded All My Empties In (Bought Myself A Future)_**

**i.**

Tim sat on the porch, his feet stretched toward the craggy wood rail, a cool, early morning breeze rustling the wind-chimes he'd grown so used to over the years. The sun was just coming up, painting the Texas sky a golden, pink hue. He crossed his arms over his chest, his mug of coffee still steaming on the table next to him, just to the right of a well-used book, edges worn. Contemplation surrounded him as he stared out over his property, the field of green grass stretched out to the road ahead, a dirt driveway leading up to the house that he and Billy had added on to many times over the last twenty-two years. Hard to believe he was going on forty-three; that his life had turned out for the better, despite the many challenges he'd faced, and sometimes put in his own way. But here he was, happier than he'd ever thought he'd be, ever thought he deserved really.

Twenty-two years. He blew out a breath that faded into a surprised chuckle and reached for his coffee, letting the heat of the mug seep into his palm and warm his chilled fingers. He took a long drag and then rested it on his chest, leaning his head back to peer out over the yard. Same yard he'd mowed and weeded and taken care of since he and Billy built the house; the original, much smaller version anyway.

His eyes glanced over the black, four-door truck parked at the front, shiny and new and looking far from the broke down Chevy he'd spent much of his high school years hoping wouldn't die on him and fixing up on weekends with Billy or Street, just trying to keep it on the road a while longer. Dust and dirt had collected around the tires and lower half of his current truck and he briefly thought about bringing it into town and getting it washed up. It was game night and since his eldest son was on the team, they'd get a discount from the car wash, even if they didn't need it.

He half-smiled to himself. It honestly struck him sometimes, a surreal sort of contentment; he had a family. He had a sixteen year old son, a fullback who wore his father's old number, 33, even if it wasn't for the Panthers but instead the East Dillon Lions. Good kid, too. Took after his dad too much with girls, but thankfully didn't pick up too many of his worse habits, with school and drinking his face off every damn day. Jackson was smart, kept his grades up, had a good head on his shoulders; Tim sometimes joked that he was more like Jason Street than he was his old man. But damn if the kid didn't look just like him, especially when he was smirking or chatting up rally girls, much to his mother's displeasure.

The screen door banged, drawing his attention, and Tim leaned his head back, eyes searching before finally landing on a little blonde head of sleep mussed hair. "What're you doin' up this early, Lady Bug?" he drawled.

Samantha shook her head, jaw cracking as she yawned widely, shuffling her bare feet across the wood porch and moving over to lean against him. At eight years old, she was the cutest kid he'd ever seen, taking after her mom in that regard. She was gonna be a stunner when she was old enough for high school. He'd be scaring boys off far too soon to his thinking. He patted his leg and she smiled, climbing up into his lap; she was a tiny thing, all long arms and knobby knees. But balanced, oddly enough; probably because of the dance classes she'd been in since she could walk. She leaned back against his chest and stared out over the front yard with him, quiet in a way all of his other kids weren't. If she looked like her momma, she acted like her daddy; all quiet thinking, only saying something when she had something to say. Jackson was a talker; most of it hot air and cocky claims of being the best fullback in all of Dillon. Lilly, his eleven year old, was book smart, and boy did she love to tell him every damn thing she read that day.

"You excited for tonight, daddy?"

"Game's gonna be good," he told her, nodding. "Jacky's got it."

"He always does," Sam muttered. "But after..." She turned her head back to look at him. "Momma says it's a big one."

His lips quirked. "Your momma says that every year."

"She says you're gonna make a speech though..." She bit her lip, looking at him searchingly. "Are you?"

"Was plannin' on it..." he admitted. Her nose wrinkled and he laughed. "No jokes, Bug, I promise."

She nodded, satisfied.

They sat like that for a while, just watching the sun rise and listening as the rest of the house came alive.

"Mom! Jackson stole the dang shower again!" Lilly yelled, followed by a banging on the door. "You get the shower at six, jerk-face! Time's up!"

"It's game day, Lills. Le' me alone!" Jackson hollered back.

"Mo-_oom!_"

"Jackson, you got ten minutes! Lilly come help me make pancakes. We'll make blueberry, okay? You have plenty of time for a shower... And don't let me hear you saying 'dang' again!"

Tim grinned, listening to his wife mediate.

"You should go help 'em with breakfast, Sammy," he told his youngest, patting her side to get her moving.

She sighed, long and loud. "Jack and Lilly are just gonna fight all morning."

"S'what they do," Tim said with a shrug.

With a quick grin, Samantha rolled off his lap. "I bet momma gives me extra blueberries if I don't rile them up..."

He chuckled to himself, shaking his head as she walked inside, door squeaking and banging behind her; he really needed to oil it, he thought absently.

He finished off his coffee before joining them inside, mug hanging off his finger by the handle. Jackson was rubbing a towel over his wet hair, hanging a little too long over his eyes, as he ambled into the kitchen, yawning. Lilly glared at him before making her way toward the bathroom while he shrugged, reaching over and stealing a handful of blueberries before Sammy slapped his hand away with a spatula. She was up on one of the stools, a too-big apron tied around her as she helped her mom make pancake mix from scratch, flour in her hair.

"Ow! The hell, Sam!" Jackson complained, pulling his hand back, dropping a couple berries as he went. He frowned at her, popping a few in his mouth before circling around and taking a seat on a stool pulled up to the island.

"Sam, don't pick on your brother," her mother admonished, using another spatula to check the bottom of the pancakes.

"He's sensitive," Tim drawled, amused, reaching over to ruffle his son's hair before circling into the kitchen.

"She hits like a boy," Jackson muttered.

Sam grinned before sticking her tongue out at him. "You whine like a girl."

Tim chuckled before reaching for his wife, hands falling to her waist and squeezing as he ducked his head down and kissed her temple. She turned her head up and half-smiled at him, still looking tired. He rubbed his scratchy cheek against hers before resting his chin on her shoulder, just enjoying the peace for a while, nothing but the sizzling of the pan to interrupt.

Finally, as she flipped the pancakes onto a plate and poured another batch, he asked her, "How's it goin' over here?"

She leaned back into his chest and rolled her eyes. "Your kids are terrible; I think you should bring them all back and ask for a refund."

He laughed, deep into his chest. "Think the warranty already ran out on most of 'em... 'Cept maybe Sam, but she's quiet, might wanna keep her." His hands slid around and rubbed circles over her stomach soothingly. "Jackson's just nervous about the game."

"I'm a Riggins, I don't get nervous," his son refuted, obviously eavesdropping. "We're gonna win this game and every game after. Then we'll take State and repeat it all again next year and the year after that!"

"And then he'll go to college and play pro-ball and he'll get his name in the Hall of Fame and blah blah blah..." Lilly said as she rejoined them, light brown hair tied in two long braids.

"Look on the bright side, Lills, you'll get the shower," Jackson told her, smirking.

"Whatever," she muttered, taking a seat next to him and reaching for the jug of orange juice. "Mom, Tracy wanted to know if she could sit with us at the game."

Tim grinned as he watched Julie's nose wrinkle. "Uh... sure. But won't her parents want her to sit with them?" she wondered hopefully.

"Nope," she said, popping the 'p'. "She says it's embarrassing sitting with her parents 'cause they always get so excited when her brother plays."

"It's not going to be any different with us, Lilly. Your dad is the loudest one there..." Grinning, she tipped her head back to look at him. "It's like he saves up all his talking so he can yell every Friday."

He shrugged. "I let you do all the yelling in our life, Jules..." He winked. "I like to think I make you yell enough."

She pursed her lips at his innuendo and rolled her eyes as her two eldest kids groaned.

"Ew, stop," Lilly said, giving a shudder.

Tim smirked, looking back at them. "What? You think your parents are monks?" He raised an eyebrow. "How'd you think y'all got here?"

Samantha pushed up on her knees. "I know how babies are made," she shared excitedly.

Tim frowned. "You're eight."

"I think that just backfired on you." Julie grinned. "Sam, what do you know about babies?"

"Well... my teacher said one thing." She frowned. "But Joey in my class said another thing..."

"I think I know where this is goin'..." Tim stared at her. "And you should stay far, far away from Joey."

Julie laughed, flipping the pancakes over and shaking her head. "It's a little early to start protecting her from boys, don't you think?"

He gave her an incredulous look. "Julie, have you seen our daughters?" He shook his head. "Way too pretty for their own good."

Lilly frowned. "Is this gonna be a double-standard? 'Cause Jackson started dating at thirteen and I don't see why I can't."

Tim choked on air. "Dating?" He released his wife, crossing over to the island and resting his arms on it as he leaned down to face her better. "You're eleven years old, Lilly. Thirteen's a ways off."

"It's two years off, and so is dating." She crossed her arms over her chest and raised an eyebrow. "Unless you're gonna be a hypocrite and tell me I can't date even though you talked mom into letting Jackson date that dumb rally girl."

"Wouldn't call it dating," Jackson muttered, lips quirking.

"Jackson Jason Riggins, you wanna rethink what you're saying?" Julie suggested, raising an eyebrow back at him.

"Uh, I just- I just meant we didn't really, uh... go out... It was more of a... couch relationship."

Turning, arms crossed over her chest, his mom waited for him to clarify.

He looked to his dad, who smirked back. Tim let him stumble over his explanation for a few seconds before he said, "It was mostly innocent, Jules. Jacky didn't live up to his dad's reputation that young."

"Yeah, well he better keep it that way," Julie said, staring at her son meaningfully before she turned back to the stove.

Jackson let out a sigh of relief before filling his mouth with blueberries so he wouldn't make anything worse.

Lilly grinned at him smugly.

"And you, little lady?" Tim stared at his eldest daughter. "We'll talk boys when you're thirteen... Not a day earlier."

She smiled, nodding.

"What about me?" Samantha looked up at him.

"Thirteen for you too, Bug."

Her nose wrinkled. "Boys smell anyway."

"That's right, they do," he agreed. "Never changes either."

Julie laughed before bringing over a large plate, stacked high with blueberry pancakes. "Sam, you wanna serve everybody out?"

She nodded eagerly, brandishing her spatula with pride.

Julie poured herself and Tim another mug of coffee before grabbing up a bowl of crispy bacon and adding it to the island, taking a seat by her husband as she went.

"Bacon?" Jackson exclaimed, happily grabbing up a handful. His brow furrowed as he stuffed his mouth full. "But you only cook up dead animal on special occasions."

"And tonight is one." Julie shrugged. "Between your game and your dad's meeting, I figured I could put up with a little bacon."

"Oh hey, yeah, I almost forgot." Jackson grabbed one of the paper towels and wiped his hands.

"It's gonna run a little late, with the game," Tim reminded. "You still comin' or you goin' to the after-party?"

"Nah, we got lots of victory parties to go to," he dismissed, shaking his head. "I'll be there."

Julie smiled at their son, looking pleased before she turned to her husband and looped her arm around his, squeezing his bicep. He covered her hand, thumb rubbing back and forth over her knuckles, while his free hand turned his fork onto its side to cut off a large chunk of pancake.

After breakfast, things started picking up the pace. Julie hopped in for a shower while Sam changed for school and Lilly and Jackson fought over the front seat. Tim put the dishes away in the dishwasher while Julie ran around, making sure she had everything, grabbing the lunches out of the fridge and rechecking her purse.

"Okay..." She blew out a sigh, her bangs rustling. "Jackson's gonna be with the team before the game. Lilly's gonna hang out with Tracy; she said she'd catch a ride with Tracy's parents and they'd meet us on the stands. Samantha-"

"Has dance practice, I know. I'll get her there on time," he assured, nodding.

"Okay. I'll be at the paper until four," she reminded. "Are you and Sam comin' back here or do you want to meet at the game too?"

"Think me and Sam'll grab something from the Alamo and meet you there. Sound good?"

She nodded. "Okay, great. I can get a little writing in before the game..."

"Book's comin' along? You power through that writer's block?" he wondered.

She grinned up at him. "Sometime around two last night, inspiration struck."

He nodded, smiling lopsidedly. "Explains why I woke up alone in the middle of the night."

She laughed. "Yeah, well, let's hope it was worth it and I don't fall asleep at work." She rolled her eyes. "Remind me again why I thought writing a book was a good idea?"

He shrugged. "'Cause you always wanted to and you waited long enough already."

"True..." She tipped her head back to stare up at him, reaching up to brush his hair back, tucking it behind his ears. "Hey, I know I'm gonna be saying it a lot tonight, and you're gonna hear it from a lot of people, but..." She shook her head, smiling gently. "I'm really proud of you, Tim." She stroked his cheeks with her thumbs. "Twenty-two years."

He cradled her head, fingers threaded in her hair. "You know it's twenty-one for us too, right?"

She laughed, shaking her head. "Our first date was three weeks later."

"Yeah, but it was twenty-one years ago today that you came along and turned my life upside down, Jules."

Her smile softened. "Your world wasn't the only one that changed."

"_Mom!_ Jackson stole the front; it was his day yesterday!" Lilly yelled from outside.

Closing her eyes, Julie let out a long sigh. "You should'a built this house close enough for them to walk to school."

Chuckling, he bent to kiss her forehead. "They could still walk; it'll just take 'em longer."

Snorting, she stepped back, rubbing her hand down his chest. "I'll see you tonight, okay?" She tipped her chin up and he leaned down to kiss her goodbye.

"Have a good one," he said against her lips, kissing her twice more quickly.

"You too." She started for the door, carrying three lunches, her purse, and her work bag. "Sam?" she called out.

Samantha came running out of her room, skidding around the corner, her backpack dragging behind her from one hand. "Bye daddy," she yelled back at him.

"I'll see you after school, Bug. Don't beat up any more boys."

"No promises," she laughed back before ignoring the stairs and leaping off the porch to the ground below, kicking up a cloud of dust as she ran toward her mom's SUV and climbed up into the backseat, where her brother was sulking.

Tim looked around his empty house, the front door wide open, dishes put away. There was some more tidying up to do but, after he checked the clock, he figured it'd have to be done later. He grabbed his own lunch out of the fridge and dragged his boots on before walking outside, locking the house up behind him before he walked toward his truck.

The drive into town was easy and quiet aside from the low hum of the radio, crackling with energy over the game that night. He remembered how avidly he'd listen to it as a teenager, scowling when it suggested the Panthers didn't have a chance and grinning to himself when it praised their accomplishments. Now when they said Riggins, he knew it was his son they were talking about and most of it was positive. Unlike his dad, who they waffled back and forth on supporting, the town of Dillon knew Jackson Riggins was a good kid with real promise; he was destined for a life of football and nothing was gonna get in his way.

As he walked into Riggins Rigs, no longer a brother and brother outfit but his alone, he nodded at his mechanics, already hard at work. It had taken some doing and a lot of side jobs to keep afloat in the beginning, but while Billy had moved on to work with Coach Taylor, Tim had stayed on the straight and narrow and made something of the original car shop he and Billy had put together. They had some competition still around town, but for the most part, his name had become synonymous with good work.

Years ago, it wasn't that way. The Riggins name was only good when related to football; outside of that, they were the troubled Riggins boys, the kind who had daddies hiding their daughters while everybody else just looked down on them in general. Going to jail had only encouraged them at first, but Tim came out a better man, wanting to make something of himself. He was sick and tired of being a screw up, of living up to that old stigma on his name. He got his land and he built his house, but he needed something to keep him going and pay the bills.

Riggins Rigs was slow to start that second time around; he fixed a few cars, building up a small, loyal customer base, but it wasn't enough. He took construction jobs to help for a while, building and fixing houses while his own business found its footing. It'd be hard times, made worse by the fact that he was alone. Most of his friends had moved on, left Dillon, found greener pastures elsewhere. Billy had his own family to worry about and Tim got that; he left him to it when he could and helped out when it was needed. He'd been working his two jobs and balancing it just barely when he made the decision to go sober. At first he figured he'd be saving some serious money if he just cut beer out of the grocery list, but it was more than that. Nothing good ever came out of him drinking. He'd pissed away too many years of his life by boozing it up like his parents used to. More than that, he didn't like who he was when he drank, how little he cared. If he wanted to be better than what he'd been, he needed to change the worst of it.

It was a Monday morning when he woke up in a pool of his own vomit, his head pounding, regret flooding through him as his stomach twisted and turned, revolting as last night's alcohol binge sloshed inside him. The woman he'd picked up at the Landing Strip had already left, her number on his bedside table with a tacky kiss mark next to it.

It was a Tuesday morning when Tim gathered up his empties and got rid of them. He took the half-sack of beer out of his fridge and he drove out over to Billy's, leaving it in his brother's hands and telling him it was a belated congratulations on the game they'd won that Friday. He lasted one week before he started to feel off, started wondering what to do if he wasn't drinking. What was he supposed to drink while he watched ESPN or what did he order when he went out? He started feeling like he was different and he didn't know how to deal with it or how to explain it. And then Billy said something, "Why don't you find one of them meetings? You know, the anonymous ones? Where they talk about how they don't drink anymore and y'know, support each other in it or whatever..."

Dillon wasn't the biggest place around, so anonymity was pretty much non-existent, but Tim found an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting that ran out of a room in a church. He sat outside in his truck, just watching as people came and went, trying to talk himself into it but never actually getting out and joining them. It was three days before there was a knock on his window that made him jump.

A man, tall and on the heavy side, bald but bearded, raised an eyebrow at him. "You here for the meetin', boy?"

Tim squeezed the steering wheel and narrowed his eyes as he stared at the church.

"It's an hour long... You don't hafta talk 'less you want to... We got hot coffee and uncomfortable as shit chairs, but it'll save your life if you let it." He knocked his knuckles on the truck door. "You come in, sit at the back if you like, just take a listen and see what it does for ya..." He shook his head. "Can't guarantee you'll never touch another drop, but it's the first step in gettin' there."

"Yeah," Tim said, giving a short nod.

The man gave him a nod in return before walking off, fingers hooked in the belt loops of his jeans. He met up with a few others, shaking hands and clapping shoulders, before disappearing inside.

Tim took a deep breath, let it out shakily, and finally climbed out of his truck. He took a look around, feeling nervous, before finally making his way up the path and walking inside the building. Uncomfortable, he crossed his arms over his chest and took a seat in the back, his head ducked, hair falling into his eyes. He listened as the same man he met opened the meeting.

"Evenin' all, I'm John. See a lot of familiar faces out there, jus' wanna welcome ya back. And some unfamiliar too..." He looked directly at Tim. "Good on ya for comin', hope you stick around... Now, let's get down to business, huh?"

Apparently it was tradition that everyone give out their first name, and so it went around, person by person, with him mumbling "Tim" and avoiding eye contact. He listened, squirming in his chair as they read out the twelve steps and traditions, as they picked out two topics to discuss after their daily reading, and as a few people around the group expanded on alcoholism and how it was affecting their lives, how far they'd come in their sobriety or the setbacks they'd had or something that happened that day or week that was gnawing at them.

He listened to Phil as he talked about a dark time in his life when he was running his family into debt because he was spending so much money on alcohol and not bothering to pay bills, ignoring them as they piled up, hiding them from his wife. As Tonya talked about how her marriage fell apart because of her drinking; how she further spiralled afterwards, drinking worse and using her divorce as the reason to continue. As John lifted spirits with how he'd been nine years sober and every day he was thankful for how far he'd come and how thankful he was that his family stuck by and supported him.

It was overwhelming. All of their stories, good and bad, were swirling through his head, and all he could think about was his own dad, pissing away money on beer until it ran out and leaving the responsibility of raising him in Billy's hands. He thought of his mom and how she always had a glass in hand. And he thought of himself, drinking from a young age, finding comfort in a cold beer and the haze of numbed feelings. His knee bounced as he looked around at all their faces as the meeting closed and they gathered together to talk casually, catch up, ask after children and work or encourage each other in the 'one day at a time' mentality of just keeping it up and trying.

He got up from his seat, hands tucked in his jeans, and walked out the door. He wasn't sure if he would go back, wasn't sure if it was the place for him. He climbed into his truck and he drove around Dillon, trying to put it out of his head. But then he remembered how Tonya talked about finding that rock bottom; of how one day she woke up with nothing but a bottle of whiskey and divorce papers and she realized that her life was going to go one of two ways; down or up. She'd either drink it away or she'd get it together.

Tim went back the next night and the next. He found an afternoon meeting and a morning meeting and one day John told him that the best thing he could do for himself when he was just starting out was thirty meetings in thirty days. That it would be the foundation to his sobriety. John told he had to dedicate himself to it, especially on days when he didn't want to go, when he was angry or tired or when the idea of sitting around in a room with a bunch of basic strangers just wasn't appealing.

So he did. On days when he was bone tired, working on cars and building houses from sun up until sun down, he'd show up, still wearing his coveralls or his work boots and he would sit in the back, arms crossed over his chest, just listening. Just letting them do all the talking and letting it all sink in. The stories that he could relate to and the others that he couldn't quite grasp and the ones that reached beyond a few days or weeks or months of sobriety to years and years of never touching a drop. Sometimes he laughed, at those stories that spoke of the dumbass shit people did when they were drunk, things he knew he'd done in his time. And other times he felt his throat swell up when he could relate to the darker ones; of abandonment and botched dreams and insecurity. He got to know the people in his group, though it changed sometimes, with some coming and going. He got to know their faces and their histories and their lives.

He got to know himself, too. Learned things about himself he never gave much thought to, never picked apart to understand better. Truth was, those meetings saved his life. They were the beginning to everything.

And what an 'everything' it turned out to be…

[**Next**: ii.]


	2. ii

**Title**: Traded All My Empties In (Bought Myself A Future)  
**Category**: Friday Night Lights  
**Genre**: Drama/Family/Humor/Romance  
**Ship**: Tim/Julie  
**Rating**: Explicit/NC-17 (This is a scrubbed up version, since FFnet doesn't allow explicit material; to find the mature version, find me on AO3 or LJ)  
**Notes**: This was written as a oneshot, but it became so long that I had to break it up into pieces for easier reading. It's finished and I'll be posting regularly.  
**Word** **Count**: 5,478  
**Summary**: Tim Riggins is celebrating twenty-two years of sobriety; he reflects on his life, the ups and downs, and the family he never thought he'd get.

**_Traded All My Empties In (Bought Myself A Future)_**

**ii.**

Tim was two months into recovery when somebody asked him if he wanted to speak. He was ready to wave it off; he wasn't much of a talker. He wasn't often accused of being a thinker, but that's just what he liked to do in these meetings. He let other people talk, share themselves, and found parts of himself in it, related his life to what they said and took what he could from what they had to share. But then he remembered the topic: fear.

So he shifted in his seat and he sat forward, his elbows on his knees, and he stared at the scuffed floor as he said, "I'm Tim. I'm a... a, uh, an alcoholic." And his lips twitched as they all replied in a chorus of, "Hi Tim."

He licked his lips and ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back even though it only fell forward to curtain his face again. "I... I started drinkin' young..." He played with his fingers nervously and cleared his throat. "Took after my dad, my mom, my brother... Just a long line of drinkers..." He swallowed, sitting back, crossing his arms over his stomach, foot tapping anxiously. "First, it was just 'cause everybody else did it... No milk in the fridge, just beer. Whisky, bourbon, vodka; my family had it all... When I was a kid, that was normal... See my mom in the back, smoke in one hand, bourbon in the other..."

He shrugged. "Then I grew up a little, mom took off... Dad did too... All I had was my brother who— Hell, he was just a kid himself, y'know?" His jaw ticked. "He did all right, I guess. It was hard for him, pickin' up after me. And me, I... I guess I picked up where my parents left off. Played football, wasn't bad either, but... When I wasn't on that field, it was hard to find me without a drink..." He smirked sarcastically. "Even on the field, I had my fair share of showin' up drunk or hung over..." He swallowed. "Thing was, I started to figure it out... Wasn't what anybody'd call the sharpest tool in the shed, but I knew where I was headed and it wasn't anywhere nice..." He chanced a look up and saw a few people nodding at him, getting it.

"With fear... I, uh... It was weird." He blew out a sigh. "I guess I was afraid of bein' like my parents, drinkin' my life away, but... I just never stopped." He furled his hands into fists. "Think I was scared... What I'd be like if I did stop... Like maybe, I dunno, maybe screwing up when I was drunk was an excuse. If I sobered up and I was still screwing up then... That was _me_. Nothing to blame that on, just me bein' me... Not good enough." He reached up, scratching at his chin as his throat tightened.

"I... Fear, it..." He sighed, feeling like he wasn't saying anything right. "Wasn't too afraid of most things... Got real good at not caring about much at all, but... I— I had dreams. I had things I wanted, people I cared about... Just easier, I guess. Livin' up to that low expectation..." He inhaled deeply before finally shrugging. "But there's no goin' back now... I might screw up, might just be what I do, sober or not, but... Figure I gotta try. Gotta change somethin' and this is it." With a nod, he finished, slumping back in his seat, both relieved that he'd spoken and that he was finished.

"Okay, thank you Tim," John said, looking at him with a proud grin.

Tim was surprised by how much better he felt. Not just in sobriety, but in saying what had kept him from it in the past. He wondered what people might think, what the Panthers might've thought of big Tim Riggins getting sentimental, baring heart and soul, and then he remembered that he wasn't there anymore. He wasn't the guy lacing up for practice or a game. He wasn't the guy hooking up with rally girls or his crippled best friend's girl. He wasn't drunk off his ass just coasting by. He was working his ass off, trying to get his business going, to make ends meet, to be better than who he'd been.

His business started picking up and he started cutting back on construction jobs to meet the requirements of the shop. People started to rely on him, telling their friends and family about the good service they got at Riggins Rigs. Things were coming together and he was really starting to think he could do it. But with the shop doing better came attention; the local cops were stopping by at random to make sure he was keeping everything above board. He might not have minded much, since he was doing everything he could to stay on the straight and narrow, but he could see how skeptical they were of him, how they always expected to show up and find a chop shop in full swing. It was disappointing, but not surprising.

On top of that, there were more demands on him too. When it was just him and a few cars, he didn't have to worry too much. With more cars, he was starting to stretch himself thin. He needed an employee or three but he wasn't sure he could afford it yet. So he put out a help wanted sign and checked out his options and how much he could afford. While he couldn't hire as many as he probably needed, he did hire one reliable guy and took some of the pressure off himself. It wasn't always easy, but he was making it. He wasn't letting the low expectations and judgement of Dillon or the police keep him from doing what he knew he could.

In between work, he kept up with his meetings; not every day, but as often as he could. He asked John to be his sponsor and checked in with him often; it helped to be able to talk to someone about how stressed he was and how the idea of drinking seemed like a good idea. Some days were harder than most but he'd pick up the phone or he'd drive out to John's and he'd get some perspective. So he was proud when he got a six month's sober key tag and a clap on the back. Sometimes when he was driving, he'd look at it, hanging from his keys, and he'd feel his chest swell up with pride.

Even with that accomplishment, there were nights when he wanted nothing else but to drink until he blacked out. A few times he almost did, driving by the liquor store, contemplating. He would circle the block, over and over, or idle in the parking lot and stare at the open sign. Sometimes he'd get as close as the front door before he'd turn around and go back, call John, go to a meeting, anything to keep him from making that mistake.

There were times he went by Billy's house and they'd sit outside to catch up; he'd watch his brother as he knocked back a bottle or two. Family barbecues were the same, with Mindy and Billy not at all uncomfortable with their beers, although they always asked him if he was all right with it. A little voice in his head would tell him one beer couldn't hurt; that one shot, one half-sack, wouldn't put him back too much. He could always start over or pace himself or learn some damn restraint. But instead, he'd remind himself that he couldn't; that he just didn't have it in him to stop, to not keep drinking. Tim stuck to his sobriety, even when it hurt, when it pissed him off how hard he had to try, how nothing every came easy to him.

He was seven months in when he heard through the grapevine that Lyla was getting married and very quickly he found himself outside of a liquor store. He sat there in his truck for three hours straight, just staring. He remembered the bitter taste of beer, the warm embrace of not feeling, the laughter and the weightless freedom of not having to give a shit about anything. And then he remembered waking up with a headache and cotton mouth. He remembered that sour taste in his mouth, the churning of his stomach, and the sudden realization that he had done nothing with his life and never would.

He pulled out of that parking spot, left the liquor store in his rear-view mirror, and went to John's house.

"Well, hey Tim," Johanna greeted as she pulled open the front door. She was as short and thin as her husband was tall and heavy, with wavy blonde hair she always kept pinned up and a motherly air about her.

"Hey Miss Jo," he replied, shifting his feet awkwardly. "Is, uh, John here?"

"Sure is. He's out back. You just go on through the gate and see him if you like," she said, pointing down the yard.

"Thank you, ma'am."

"You stayin' for dinner, Tim?" she wondered, leaning out the door as he started across the lawn.

He shook his head. "Wouldn't wanna intrude."

She waved a dismissive hand at him. "You'll stay and you'll like it," she said simply before disappearing back inside.

Tim ducked his head, somewhat amused by her heavy-handed way, and walked through the wood gate to the backyard. John had a nice home that he took good care of; the yard was always green, flowerbeds always weeded, and it seemed he was always doing something to it. Today he was working on a fountain and the path that would lead to it.

"Tim, that you?" he asked, sitting back on his haunches and wiping his sweaty forehead. "Wasn't expectin' anybody."

He nodded. "Wasn't expectin' to drop by," he mused, shrugging.

Tipping his head, John looked him over a long moment, his brow furrowed. He pushed up from the ground, hands on his knees, and walked up to the deck. "C'mon," he said, waving a hand before he plopped down on a cushioned chair. "Johanna see ya?"

"Yeah. Seems I've been invited to dinner," he said, lips twitching as he took a seat across from John.

He nodded before reaching over to a cooler against the house and dragging out a couple bottles of water, one of which he tossed to Tim. "So? What's on your mind then?"

Tim leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers against the patio table and staring down at it a long moment, his jaw clenched tight. "Got word on Lyla..." he finally said, the silence hanging heavy in the air. "She's gettin' married."

John stared at him, his face unreadable. "All right."

He ground his teeth. "Didn't handle it too well... Went to the liquor store..." He glanced at John and then down at his water bottle. "Sat outside it a while..."

"You go inside?" he asked simply, voice carefully devoid of judgement.

Slowly, he shook his head.

"But?"

"I wanted to." He swallowed tightly. "I really wanted to."

"Think you're missin' the point here, Tim." Sighing, John sat forward. "You're an addict, son. You're still learning how to deal with things without your drug of choice. But what you need to remember is that when push came to shove, when you had to make that decision, you decided that you weren't gonna get drunk today... You weren't gonna let this thing with this girl screw up your life..."

He twisted the cap off his water bottle and took a long drink while Tim sat back and let that information sink in.

It was a few minutes before John asked him, "Lyla... That's the one who used to date your best friend, innit? You two had a little thing goin' while he was in the hospital. S'how it started anyway. You had a relationship later, right?"

He nodded.

"Things that start out like that, start out with that black mark on 'em 'fore they ever get started, it's hard to change that history, son... I remember correctly, you said you never felt good enough when you was with her... Like she was too good, too pure for a guy like you."

He glanced at him through his hair. "I was."

"You know why those relationships don't work?" He raised an eyebrow. "'Cause you gotta have some equality. You always got a girl on a pedestal while you're down as far as you can get then you don't understand each other. You're lookin' at her like she can do no wrong and when she does, you take it, thinkin' you don't deserve better or, hell, that you could do worse and she's the best you'll ever have..." He shook his head. "The guy you were with this Lyla girl, that ain't who you are now. You might look the same, there might be some stuff left over, but you change and grow with sobriety. You get clear eyes and you can look at these things and these people and see where it went wrong and what you don't want to repeat."

He hummed, nodding to himself. "I loved Lyla," he said. "First girl, maybe only girl, I ever loved... But I never measured up. Wasn't just me who thought it, either. I don't think she ever thought I was enough." He let out a long breath and frowned. "But I tried to be."

"What you oughtta be tryin' is being good for _you_..." John stared at him seriously. "Ain't no girl gonna live your life or make it right for you. You gotta find it in you to be the best you can be and be happy with what you got. You wanna live this life sober, then you do that. You live it as good as you can and I'm tellin' ya, one day this whole thing is just gonna be a page in your book. It's all a journey, Tim. Some of it's bad, some of it's good, and in the end, boy, you got a story to tell."

Slowly, his lips twitched up on one side. "Ain't much of a story-teller, John."

He laughed, deep and from the belly. "Yeah, I noticed."

"You boys almost done? Dinner's near ready," Johanna called out from the house.

"Yeah, we're comin' in," John shouted back, before pushing up from his chair. "C'mon. Best wash up before we sit at her table."

Tim joined him as they started for the house.

When he sat down for dinner, watching the light-hearted banter and bickering between them, Tim was reminded of another couple; Coach and his wife. And he realized as he sat eating Miss Jo's lasagna, that the couples he wanted to be like, the family he wanted to have for himself, wasn't anything like what he and Lyla had when they were together. Maybe John was right; maybe the way things started, toxic as they'd been, made it so that nothing that happened after could stack up. Wasn't just that though, either. Him and Lyla had so many ups and downs it was hard for him to find his footing. Hard for him to ever feel like he measured up enough to be with her. He didn't want that in his future. He didn't want to feel like he didn't deserve the woman he was with or he had to change to be good enough for her. So maybe it was a blessing, he figured, that Lyla was really and truly out of reach. Now he could put that fantasy of her and being with her out of his head and move on.

"You know, I been thinkin'," John said, waving his fork toward Tim. "What you need is a hobby."

His eyebrows hiked. "A hobby?"

"Yeah." He nodded. "See, I got my yard work. I keep busy with it, buildin' stuff, gives me something to concentrate on."

"That was always football for me..." He shrugged. "Or weight lifting."

"Hmm... Maybe find somethin' different. Something that gets your head workin'."

Tim nodded, but he didn't know where to start. He'd never given much thought to hobbies in the past; he'd always had women, football, friends, and beer to fill up the empty space in his life. Now he was O for 4.

A week later, he was walking through town, wasting time before the meeting when he saw it. There was a little shop full of hand carved furniture; it had a wooden porch chair out front with a price tag on it that was worth a good laugh. There was no chance of him spending that much on one chair, even if he did like it. But it gave him an idea. Carpentry. Instead of buying somebody else's hard work, he started building his own furniture. If he wasn't at the shop or a meeting, he was busy building; a lopsided kitchen table, wobbly coffee table, and too-good-to-be true stools, the only thing that actually seemed sound, even if he was waiting for the day they'd finally snap and break under his weight.

Eventually, when the urge to drink struck, he'd smell sawdust in the air, his brain equating it to something else now. He would go home and build until he was distracted, completely absorbed in every cut and measurement and the hours he spent sanding it all down. He got better at it; replaced his shitty tables with better ones and even came to trust that his stools would hold up. He built a dresser for Billy and a hope chest for Mindy. He built sturdy bunk beds for their twins and a picnic table for their backyard.

And then one day, Tim was surprised to hear John telling him that his one year was coming up. There would be a cake and speeches and he'd get himself a one year medallion to celebrate. A year. Twelve whole months and he'd done it. Wasn't easy, he'd had his days when he didn't want anything more than to get drunk until he couldn't see straight, but he'd made it.

It felt surreal. Standing there, listening to the group talk about their first impressions of him, of how proud they were to see how far he'd come. He sat back, half-smiling as John stood up, playing with a medallion in his fingers.

"When I first saw Timmy, it was three days before he ever set foot in here."

Tim raised an eyebrow, surprised.

"For three nights, he sat outside this building just looking, just observing... And y'know, I realized that was just his way. He's a quiet man, saying more in a look than he ever does with his mouth." He nodded. "I watched and waited to see what he'd do, if he'd ever get the courage up to come inside. And on that third night, I decided that maybe it wasn't in God's plan that Tim found his courage but instead that I let him know he had it... So I walked up to his truck and invited him inside. I left it up to him whether he wanted to come or not and I trusted that he would do what was best for him... I didn't know Tim from nothing, but I tell you I was proud when I saw him sitting in the back. I was proud when I saw him there the next night too..."

He looked up and stared across the room at Tim with a half-grin. "Boy, you are somethin'... You ain't heard it enough in your life, I gather. Had a lot of cheerin' fans out there with you on the field but as soon as you got off it...?" He whistled. "Crowd went their way and you went another... Ain't no cheerleaders when you don't got a pigskin in your hand, makes it hard to keep goin', find your way, make somethin' of yourself; life after football..." He reached up to scrub his fingers through his beard. "You've done that Tim... You did that on your own. You didn't have no daddy to tell you it was right, no rally girls to soothe your ego, or a Coach to make ya come here. No, you did that on your own..."

He nodded at him. "This here is a medallion to remind you of all your hard work. Remind you of the best and the worst of times and how many of 'em you still got comin'... You got one year under your belt, son, and you got a lot of 'em still to come." He tipped his head to invite Tim up with him.

Pushing up from his seat, he crossed the room, gait slow, none too eager to be standing in front of everything. His stomach twisted up and a weight sat heavy on his chest.

John gave his hand a shake and handed him his medallion, "You did good."

Tim took it, weighing it in his palm a long second.

He remembered making a speech, something short and quick, he was sure, but he couldn't for the life of him remember what was said.

It was later that night, with a medallion burning a hole in his pocket, that he realized the weight in his chest was fear. He'd done this, John was right. He'd come this far all on his own. There was nobody holding his head up over the water but him. And that truth was hard to swallow. John was a good man and hearing him say that he was proud of Tim sent a shot of fear through him of what it meant. What if he screwed it up? What if he started drinking? Would he lose that respect? Would John be disappointed in him? Give up on him? Would he realize that putting his faith in a Riggins was never a good idea?

Fear ate at him until he was right back where he started, idling outside a liquor store, staring at the neon open sign in the window. His hands twisted around the steering wheel, his gut clenched, and he watched, waiting, wondering what would happen. Would it taste good? Feel good? Would he hate himself after?

When he turned the ignition off, his hand was shaking. He climbed out of the truck and felt his blood pulsing quick in his veins. Dragging his hands down his face, he nodded. He started across the parking lot, slow and easy, unhurried, each step feeling like a death march.

He was halfway across the road when he heard it.

"Tim?"

He paused, eyes turned up.

"Tim Riggins?"

His head turned and, finally, landed on a blonde head in the distance.

She walked toward him, coming close enough that the street lamp lit up her familiar face.

"Julie Taylor," he said, lips twitching.

She half-smiled. "Hey..."

He nodded at her. "What're you doin' in Dillon?"

"I just moved back actually... It's a long story." She waved a hand. "Trust me, you don't wanna hear it."

He raised an eyebrow. "Last I heard, you and Seven were engaged."

"Yeah..." She turned her eyes off and let out a distant laugh. "Not anymore."

He nodded, staring at her. "You, uh..." He licked his lips, glanced at the store, and then turned back to her. "Hey, you wanna get somethin' to eat an'... catch up?" He crossed his arms loosely over his chest. "You can tell me your long story."

She stared up at him, a little surprised. "Sure," she agreed, adding, "But only if you fill me in on yours too."

He half-grinned. "Deal."

She pointed her thumb back at her car. "Where's good for you?" Her nose wrinkled. "And please don't say the Alamo or Applebee's."

He chuckled under his breath. "Anywhere's good, just... Not a bar."

She tipped her head thoughtfully before smiling. "No bars it is."

They ended up in a small diner where Tim had a late dinner and Julie nursed a milkshake.

"So you moved back for good then?" he asked her as she stirred her milkshake across from him.

Julie shrugged. "Wasn't my first choice, I admit, but..." She licked her lips, turning her eyes out the window. "Me and Matt, we started out good in Chicago. It... It was like a fairytale, almost. Like everything I wanted was happening..." She rolled her eyes at herself. "But you never really know how young you are until you grow up." She frowned. "And we both had some growing up to do."

"Been doin' that myself," he admitted, nodding.

"Yeah?" She half-smiled and looked him over. "You look different..." She scoffed. "Well, I mean... You always looked relaxed, but now you look, I dunno... Calm, maybe."

"You were in college down there, right?" he asked. "Think your dad said something about writing?"

She nodded. "I wanted to be a journalist, so I was taking a lot of writing courses." She smiled brightly. "It was amazing. Learning about it, figuring out what my weaknesses and strengths were. I..." She shook her head. "I mean, it wasn't easy. Being judged like that, feeling like the one thing you're really good at is just average and needs a lot of work, but... It was worth it. Even... Even when me and Matt started fighting and growing apart, I just, I _knew _that writing was what I wanted…"

She pinched her straw and brought it to her mouth, taking a deep sip before licking her lips and sitting back. "I was talking to mom about looking for work and how much I hated my new apartment and how lonely it was there and she told me about this job opening here in Dillon at one of the smaller newspapers... I mean, it's just starting out, it's nothing really big, but... I guess, when she said that, it was just this huge wave of nostalgia and I went online and looked it up and..." She rolled her eyes at herself. "Applied before I could talk myself out of it."

"Guessin' you got it, since you're here."

She grinned widely then, nodding her head as she laughed. "I did." She looked up briefly as the waitress returned with his burger and fries and watched as he grabbed it up with both hands. "Hungry?"

Tim had to open his mouth pretty wide to get it around the burger and didn't pause to answer, instead giving her a wink.

She snorted and then leaned forward, staring down at her milkshake. "So I'm back living with my parents and repeatedly telling myself this isn't the opposite of progress, but..." She glanced around the diner. "I don't know, it just feels right." She brightened. "As soon as I save up enough, I'll look for my own apartment and I think that'll really help me feel more independent, y'know?"

He nodded, wiping his mouth with a napkin as he chewed. "Sounds good to me."

"So what about you then?" She tipped her head, resting it on an upturned fist. "What've you been doing? I think dad mentioned you reopened your car shop!"

Tim was a little surprised the Coach knew; they hadn't kept much in touch. But then, with work and meetings and his carpentry, he hadn't had much time for anything else.

"Yeah, I opened it back up..." He nodded, staring down at his plate. "Took some doin'... Had to do construction for the first while, keep it afloat..."

Her brow furrowed. "That must've been hard. Working two jobs..."

He shrugged. "Wasn't easy."

"But worth it?"

He grinned. "Yeah." He looked up at her through his hair. "It's goin' good now. Got steady business, good mechanic helpin' me out..."

He paused for a moment, unsure if he should share the rest. He hadn't really shared his sobriety with anyone but his brother and the people he saw at the meetings. There were a few times he wanted to tell Streeter but he'd held his tongue. He told himself he'd tell him when he got a year but even now he wasn't sure. It had a lot to do with worrying that if he said it out loud somebody would laugh, think he was joking, ask him why or if he really thought he could keep it up. Sure, Jason wouldn't do it to hurt him, but it would all the same.

Now here was Julie Taylor and, in all honesty, they weren't real close before. He hadn't had much contact with her since he lived in her house years ago, sleeping on her couch, all thanks to her dad. They'd hung out some then and he'd liked her. She encouraged him to do his homework and helped when he got stuck on it. She was nervous though and twitchy, not quite comfortable in her skin, but all sarcasm and fire and too smart for her own good. Probably still was, in some ways, but she looked grown up, like maybe she did find herself out there in the big city, and she liked who she turned out to be.

"I, uh... I'm celebrating a year sober today," he told her, keeping his eyes down for a second, his shoulders tensed.

"A year?"

He looked up and found she was grinning at him.

"Wow! Tim, that— That's really great!"

He blew out a breath he didn't even know he was holding. He was expecting a snort, a 'Yeah, right,' but not that. Acceptance and approval; things he'd always craved and rarely got.

Genuinely happy for him, she reached across the table to cover his hand with hers and squeezed. "Good for you." She tucked her hair behind her ear, smiling. "You came a long way, huh?"

The weight in his chest morphed then, he felt it clear as day. It went from fear to pride and he laughed under his breath. "Guess I did," he said, leaning back in the booth. "Guess I did."

They stayed in the diner until an impatient waitress let them know they were closing. Julie blushed as she paid an excessive tip in apology and rolled her eyes but thanked him as he paid the tab. They walked outside to the parking lot, where he dragged his feet. Truth was, this was the first time in more than a year that he felt comfortable with anybody outside of the meeting. He loved his brother, but he felt like there was this pressure between them, of Billy being proud his little brother wasn't drinking and unsure how he should handle it himself. Hanging out with Julie, there was no pressure; it was gone as soon as he admitted he didn't drink anymore. They talked easily, about Dillon and high school and her life in Chicago. He told her about his house and the furniture he built and she said she might just look him up for some help when she was refurnishing the apartment she planned to rent as soon as possible.

Hands tucked in his pockets, he racked his brain for an excuse, a reason to keep hanging out. He didn't want to go home just yet, didn't want to walk away and return to the somewhat lonely life he'd been leading. "We, uh, should do this again sometime," he finally said, leaning against the front of his truck and watching her as she dug her keys out of her purse.

She nodded. "Yeah, I'd like that..." She rolled her eyes. "It gets old just hanging out with my parents." Her nose wrinkled. "And also makes me feel lame, so... It'd be nice to hang out with somebody I can relate to and not feel like I'm getting scolded."

He laughed under his breath, ducking his head. "Sounds good."

"Cool. So... I guess I'll see you around." She jangled her keys and started toward her car.

Seeing his in, he called to her, "Hey, y'know, if you want, you could bring your car down to the shop and I'll give it a look over. Free of charge." He licked his lips. "Maybe we could hang out after or something."

She smiled. "Sure. I'll see how my work schedule is and give you a call."

"All right."

She reached for the handle of her car door and waved. "Night Tim."

"Night Jules."

As she drove off into the night, Tim watched the headlights of her car and thought to himself that maybe that higher power they were always talking about in the meetings wasn't total bullshit. Maybe someone had prompted John to invite him inside that night one year earlier and maybe that same someone directed Julie Taylor to that parking lot, interrupting what could've been a very big mistake. Whatever it was, he was grateful.

[**Next**: iii.]


	3. iii

**Title**: Traded All My Empties In (Bought Myself A Future)  
**Category**: Friday Night Lights  
**Genre**: Drama/Family/Humor/Romance  
**Ship**: Tim/Julie  
**Rating**: Explicit/NC-17 (This is a scrubbed up version, since FFnet doesn't allow explicit material; to find the mature version, find me on AO3 or LJ)  
**Notes**: This was written as a oneshot, but it became so long that I had to break it up into pieces for easier reading. It's finished and I'll be posting regularly.  
**Word Count**: 4,981  
**Summary**: Tim Riggins is celebrating twenty-two years of sobriety; he reflects on his life, the ups and downs, and the family he never thought he'd get.

**_Traded All My Empties In (Bought Myself A Future)_**

**iii.**

Tim and Julie stayed in touch casually over the next few weeks; her job kept her busy and the shop had him up early and staying late. But they talked on the phone a couple times, trying to find a good day for her to bring in her car, and she invited him to eat at the diner a week later. It was easy. And it felt good, to have somebody to hang out with and not feel weird around. The problem was, as much as he needed a friend, he was having a hard time looking at her and thinking only friendly thoughts. Back when he stayed with her, she'd had innocent written all over her and that was like a blinking red Stop sign for him. But now, she was older, confident, and beautiful.

"So dad wanted me to ask you if you wanted to come to the game this Friday," Julie said, perusing the menu in front of her, brows furrowed.

"Yeah?" he said, stirring the straw of his coke.

The diner had become their meeting spot over the last couple weeks, with Julie calling him up at random and inviting him for lunch or breakfast. Usually she'd bring a newspaper with her and look through the classifieds to see what was available to rent, asking him about the neighborhood or if he thought it sounded good.

"Yeah, he said he doesn't see you much." She smiled. "I think he misses you."

He snorted. "Doubt that."

"_Really_. I told him we were hanging out at dinner the other night and he started talking about how your business was doing really good and that Billy had mentioned you were sober..." She grinned. "He sounded really proud of you."

A tiny smile tugged at his mouth.

"So?" She reached over and kicked his foot. "You wanna come to the game?" She wiggled her eyebrows. "You can sit with me, mom, and Gracie Belle... If you're good, I'll share my hot chocolate with you."

He laughed under his breath. "Hot chocolate?" He raised an eyebrow. "You got me, Taylor. I'm in."

She chuckled. "Good. Dad'll be happy."

He smiled, watching her as she turned her eyes down to the menu.

Every few seconds, she'd look over at him, catching him staring and slowly, her cheeks started to turn pink. "You already know what you're ordering?"

He nodded.

Her nose wrinkled. "Dead animal?"

"Dead animal," he agreed, smiling. "You gonna get the salad to balance it out?"

She hummed. "No, I think I'll go with the chicken burger," she decided.

"You eat too much chicken," he told her. "Eat much more and you'll grow feathers."

She raised an eyebrow. "I don't see you standing in a field gnawing on grass with all the beef you eat."

He smirked. "How do you think I keep the field around my house lookin' so good?"

Her head fell back as she laughed.

And Tim knew, as he watched her eyes dance with laughter and her smile stretch her lips, that he was already getting in too deep.

That night, he went over to John's house to get some perspective.

"She invited me to the game on Friday... Said her dad wanted me to come by."

"Her dad... So your old football coach, is that right?"

He laughed to himself and shook his head. "Seriously, John, I think you might be the only guy in Dillon that doesn't follow football like it's a religion."

He shrugged. "Never much cared for it. Just the way I was."

He nodded, sitting back in his chair. "But yeah, her dad's Coach Taylor."

"All right, so what's the problem? You don't got any issues with your old Coach, right? He helped you out with jail, supported you, was a good father-figure if I remember right."

"Yeah." He nodded, staring down at the table.

"'Less this isn't about the coach and it's about his daughter..." John peered at him. "You been spendin' a lot of time with that Julie girl, haven't you?"

Staying quiet, he just bobbed his head agreeably.

"Pretty thing?" John wondered.

His lips twitched. "Kinda looks just cute at first. She's got this..." He scrunched up his nose. "Does that a lot, makes her look cute."

John laughed at him. "You spend a long time just lookin' at her nose there, son?"

He snorted, leaning back in his chair, shaking his head. "We're friends," he said.

"Yeah, that's how plenty of people start out... You ain't ever seen that '_When Harry Met Sally_' movie?"

Tim stared at him blankly.

He sighed, rolling his eyes. "Look, I just got one question for ya, think it'll clear this all up..."

"Shoot."

"You wanna kiss this girl?"

He knew the answer but it took him a second before he nodded.

"All right then. Y'know, we got a suggestion at AA... It's smart thinkin' to avoid makin' any big decisions or bein' in any serious relationships in your first year of sobriety..." He stared at Tim. "Far as I could tell, you weren't much of a dater. " He raised an eyebrow. "Least ways not long-term."

He shrugged, smirking lazily. "Relationships haven't been so good to me."

"You're past a year now, Tim. You wanna get into one, that's your business. And I'd say, after this year that you've had, you've come a long way... So if you're thinkin' that this girl could be special and you wanna explore that... You just make sure you're doin' it with the best of intentions."

He stared at him curiously.

"Don't sabotage yourself is what I'm sayin'... You'd know better than me if this girl is gonna help or hinder your sobriety or the way you wanna live your life now... So you just take it all with a grain of salt and decide what's best, all right?"

He nodded, frowning as he sat back, hands stacked on his stomach. "She's a good woman," he said after a few minutes. "Julie. She's... She's smart like Lyla, sarcastic like Tyra, but... She's got a sweet, soft side. Wasn't much of a drinker either; still ain't... And she's supportive." He licked his lips. "She can get a little worked up about things, but I like that. She's got fire in her, y'know?"

John grinned to himself. "You tryin' to get me to date her, son? 'Cause I'm already taken. You don't need to convince me that this girl is right for you... I think you already know."

"Yeah..." He turned his eyes up to the sky. "Yeah."

That Friday night, Tim made his way out to see the East Dillon Lions play. Hands tucked in the pockets of his jeans, he scanned the stands for familiar faces, finally landing on Julie, her mother, and her younger sister. He climbed the stairs and made his way over, feeling nervous energy running through him. The stands were pretty full, which was only a little surprising. While the Lions didn't have as much support as the Panthers did, since Coach took them to State the year before, people were coming around. He saw a few people he vaguely recognized, but he kept walking toward the Taylors.

"There he is," Julie said to her mother, waving.

"Tim, hey hon," Tami said as he got closer. She stepped out onto the stairs to hug him, much to his surprise, and then ushered him in next to Julie.

"How are you, Mrs. Coach?" he asked.

"Good. I'm good. I know Eric's gonna be happy to see you. Julie said you were comin', but we know work's been busy."

He nodded. "Yeah, well, Friday nights are pretty quiet since everybody's in the same place."

"That's nice. You get a night off then, huh?"

"Caught a few Panther games, but I'm sorry to say I don't get out here to see the Lions much."

She winked, grinning at him. "Well, let's hope that changes, hey?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Julie, amused with his manners, rolled her eyes. She patted the space next to her and he took a seat on the bench, resting his elbows on his knees. Tami looked down the line and said, "Gracie Belle, honey, why don't you come with me? We'll go see what the concession stand has to offer?"

"Candy," Gracie said hopefully, hopping up from her seat and shuffling past them. She took her mom's hand as they climbed down the stairs.

"She's gettin' big," Tim said, watching after them.

"Yeah. Still doesn't like pants much though," she said, laughing.

He turned to her, half-smiling. "You excited for the game?"

She shrugged. "Kind of. This is the first one I've really been to since I got back, so... It's been a while."

"Game's still the same, it's the players that change," he said, turning his eyes out over the field. "Lions've been doin' good this year, too."

"They have a good coach," she mused wryly.

"Best coach," he agreed sincerely.

She bumped his shoulder with hers. "Gettin' nostalgic on me?"

He laughed under his breath. "Little bit."

"Must feel different, being in the stands instead of on the field."

He shrugged. "Still feel a little nervous even though I'm not playing," he admitted.

"Yeah?" She raised an eyebrow. "You don't look it."

"Just used to hidin' it, I guess."

She hummed. "Feel free not hide around me," she told him, leaning in as if she was telling him a secret nobody else should hear.

He stared down at her pretty face, the spatter of freckles across her nose, and her dark brown eyes, peering up at him. "I'm tryin' not to."

She smiled slowly. "Good."

As a shrill whistle broke the air, their eyes were diverted to the cheerleaders putting on a show.

It was a few minutes before Gracie and Tami rejoined them, making them shuffle down the bench so she could keep her youngest next to her. Julie broke out her thermos of hot chocolate and shared it with Tim while he ate the hot dogs Tami bought for him with all the fixings.

Julie had just capped the thermos when they announced that the Lions were coming on the field. She stood up next to him and clapped while he gave a long whistle as the team rushed out, the crowd cheering wildly for them. A stoic Eric Taylor led them to the sidelines, carrying his clipboard and speaking to his team of assistant coaches, one of whom was Billy.

The game was a close one. Tim found himself on his feet a number of times, cheering people on by numbers rather than names. He would laugh happily when the Lions scored a touchdown and turn to grin at Julie, who smiled at his excitement. At half-time, Julie broke out a blanket she'd folded up and been sitting on and spread it out over their laps. She brought out the last of her hot chocolate to finish off and handed him the Thermos while she used the cup.

"What d'you think my dad's saying to them right now?" she wondered.

Tim glanced at the board, where they were up by four. "He's praising them, telling them they got this game. That they've been giving it their all and he knows it..." He nodded. "He'll get 'em worked up, remind them that this is their field and they need to own it..." He smiled to himself. "And they will."

She grinned at him. "You must've really looked up to him."

His eyes fell for a moment in thought. "You lucked out, Jules. You got a good dad."

"I did," she agreed. "And you got a good coach and he got a good fullback."

"And a good daughter," he said, lips twitching.

She scoffed. "When I felt like it."

He chuckled. "Trust me, you were good compared to most of us."

"Hm." She reached over and hooked her arm with his, squeezing. "You turned out all right, remember."

He stared down at her. "You aren't half bad yourself, Taylor."

When half-time ended, Tim felt a different kind of nervous energy, and it all had to do with Julie Taylor's arm wrapped around his.

The Lions did win that night; Tim was one of the loudest people cheering. They walked down together to congratulate the Coach, who grabbed his wife up in a hug before he ruffled Gracie's hair and kissed Julie's head, and finally turned to say hey to his former fullback.

"Good game, Coach," Tim greeted, nodding.

"Thanks, son." His arm looped easily around his wife's waist. "We got a lot to catch up on. What say we hit the town? Get some ice cream or somethin'?"

Gracie Belle hopped around eagerly. "Yes!"

"Tastee Freeze?" Julie asked.

"Sounds good to me," Tami agreed.

"Great. Uh, I'll catch a ride over with Tim," she offered, tugging on the sleeve of his shirt.

The Coach looked between them for a second before giving a short nod. "Sure, yeah. We'll see you two there." He pointed at Tim. "I'm hopin' you might have some tips for me about my new fullback, Riggins."

"A few, sir."

They went their separate ways, with Tim looking back to see the players surrounded by adoring fans and Coach Taylor getting his hand shook and his shoulder patted as he made his way out.

"So I'm thinking a strawberry sundae, extra sprinkles," Julie said.

Tim turned his head toward her and grinned. He left the field and the overwhelming nostalgia behind, following Julie out to the parking lot. "Yeah?"

"Ooh, or maybe a banana split."

"So many decisions," he teased.

She bumped his hip. "What about you?"

He shrugged. "I dunno. A dipped cone."

"Minimalistic. Okay. Very Riggins," she said with a laugh.

"Why? What would you suggest?"

"Mm..." She closed one eye and tipped her head back. "I'd say you get the sundae, I'll get the banana split and we go halfsies."

"Yeah? Sounds better for you than me, Jules."

"Hey, you get your ice cream and there's chocolate, so..." She looked up at him hopefully.

He snorted. "Are you givin' me puppy-dog eyes?"

"That depends..." She bit her lip, glancing down and then back up at him. "Is it working?"

He chewed his lip. "Yeah."

She grinned. "So halfsies?"

He sighed, shaking his head as he stifled a smile.

A while later at the Tastee Freeze, Tim was wondering if he needed more self-control when it came to Julie, because her dad was paying a whole lot of attention to how his daughter kept reaching over and stealing bites of his sundae.

"You a big fan of sprinkles, Riggins?" Coach asked, eyeing his dessert.

Tim glanced at his sundae and then at Julie, who was choking on a laugh. "You couldn't tell, Coach?" He dug out a spoonful and popped it into his mouth.

Eric smiled, shaking his head, brow raised. "Uh-huh. So...?" He sat back in the booth. "The game."

Julie rolled her eyes and pushed her banana split closer to him.

Tim dug out a bite as he considered the subject before launching into a short, to-the-point list of what he considered to be the strengths and weaknesses of the Lions' fullback. Julie reached under his arm and stole his dessert, pushing the banana split in front of him while she ate all the strawberry sauce and sprinkles off the top of his sundae. Tim avoided the pineapple on the split and listened as the Coach started laying out plans for a new play he wanted to try.

Finally, ice cream all finished, they all climbed out of the booth.

"It was good seein' you," Coach said, reaching out to shake Tim's hand. "You should come by some time, we'll go over tapes. Be good to get another perspective."

"I will."

"We can talk more too... You can tell me more about the business and... just what's been goin' on in your life," he continued.

Tim understood he meant his sobriety and was surprised at the relief he felt. Truth was, he did always look up to Coach Taylor and disappointing him was something he never wanted to do. While getting sober had been for himself, the benefits of earning the trust and respect of people like Coach Taylor had made the worst of it worth it.

"I'll make some time next week," Tim promised.

"Good." He nodded. "Real good." He started toward his car. "Jules?"

"In a sec," she said over her shoulder before turning back to him. "Hey, so I have tomorrow afternoon off and I was thinking... If you have some time, maybe I could bring my car in. You can show me around the shop. That work?"

"Yeah. Tomorrow's good."

She grinned. "You sure? You don't have to consult with your schedule? Call your secretary?"

He laughed, ducking his head until his hair fell over his eyes. "I don't have a secretary and since I make my own schedule, I think I can put a little time off to the side for you."

"Good." She reached over and tugged on the front of his shirt. "Then I'll see you tomorrow." She smiled before turning on her heel and walking away, glancing back over her shoulder once.

Tim watched her go before turning and walking to his truck. It wasn't until he was halfway home that he realized he was grinning like an idiot.

The following afternoon, Tim couldn't stop looking at the clock as he waited for Julie to show up. So when she pulled her car in, he abandoned the truck he was working on to meet her, wiping his hands on a rag as he went.

"You can pull 'er in over here," he said, walking down the line and waving her into the shop.

When they finally got situated, she was sitting on a stool next to his feet as he checked out the underside.

"These are some nice coveralls," she teased, reaching over to tug on the leg of them.

"Put on my Sunday best just for you, Taylor," he drawled back.

She chuckled. "So? How's business going today?"

"It's goin'..." He rolled out and searched through his tool box for a moment. "How's the apartment search?"

"It's going," she reiterated, grinning.

Shaking his head, he wheeled himself back under. "Coach seemed glad to have you home."

She hummed. "I think he's glad and not glad at the same time."

"Why's that?"

"I think he's worried I'll regret moving back... Can't really blame him, I spent most of my teen years complaining about Dillon and how happy I was going to be when I left and never looked back."

"Strong words."

"Well, it was true back then..." She sighed. "I don't know. I... I was happy when I was in Chicago, don't get me wrong, but... It wasn't home, y'know?"

He paused. "Yeah."

"I mean, I can do without the football mania and the small town hypocrisy, but... I missed my parents and my sister and I don't know, I guess Dillon. I missed how everybody waves at each other, everybody knows each other... I loved the arts and culture in Chicago, but I always felt like a tiny fish in a huge pond and I just never quite fit..."

He rolled back out and sat up, resting his elbows on his knees. "I get it... Felt the same when I was at San Antonio... I was still playing, I got out, but... I dunno. Just didn't feel right." He frowned. "I knew it wasn't gonna be like Dillon. I wasn't a Panther anymore and I got that, but... Wasn't home. Just didn't fit me right."

"Yeah, well, it turned out right for you." She kicked his boot playfully. "You've got your ranch now and your land..." She waved a hand around. "You've got the shop and even your own lackey..." She winked at him as she nodded toward his mechanic.

He laughed under his breath. "Guess some of us were just Dillon-made."

"Maybe..." She nodded. "I think I'll be happy here, I just... I have to find my niche, y'know?" Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Who knows, maybe I'll write a book and be one of those authors with that write-up in the back where they live happily-ever-after in the idyllic country landscape with their kids and their perfect husband, living out their dream." She rolled her eyes.

"Yeah?" His mouth curved up on one side. "Who's this perfect husband, anyway? You even dated since you got back?"

"That's funny coming from you," she retorted, eyebrow raised. "When's the last time you went out on a date?"

"Define date," he said.

She snorted, pursing her lips at him. "You know what I mean..."

He reached up and scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Maybe I'm waiting on the right girl, you ever think of that?"

"Honestly?" She chuckled. "No."

He laughed good-naturedly. "Well, how 'bout you, Jules?"

She looked up at him from under her eyelashes. "What about me?"

He reached down and used his hand around her ankle to pull him closer to her, wheels rolling across the pavement until their knees knocked. "How about you and me?" he said, staring at her searchingly. "No Alamo Freeze or Applebee's, got my word..." He nodded. "Whattya say? You wanna go on a date with the reformed Riggins boy?"

She stared at him, her smile softening. "One condition."

"Shoot."

She glanced down at his coveralls. "You trade in your Sunday best for something a lot less grease-stained."

He grinned, licking his lips, and ducked his head, hair falling in his eyes. "I can do that."

She nodded. "Then deal."

That same night, they went to dinner and a movie.

Tim couldn't say what the movie was or who starred in it, he just remembered how every time he moved, his leg rubbed against hers and how his fingers twitched to reach over and take hers. He remembered how, at some point, she leaned over and laid her head on his shoulder and he snuck his arm around her. He remembered her rant about the butter substitute they used on popcorn and the pack of Swedish fish she absolutely refused to share with him.

"No way. These are my favorite. I can't even find them anywhere but at this theater."

"Yeah, well, be generous then, Jules..." He nudged her. "Or I'm not givin' you any of my licorice."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "Go ahead and keep your licorice."

"I will..." He nodded. "And my butter-substitute covered popcorn."

She laughed, reaching over to steal a piece to throw at him. "You go ahead, but you aren't getting a kiss goodnight if you taste like that."

He grinned slowly. "Already planning on kissin' me, Taylor?" He raised an eyebrow. "You're movin' a little quick for a first date."

She scoffed. "Now you're definitely not getting one." She crossed her arms over her chest and sat back, biting her lip to hide her smile. "No fish and no kiss."

"This might be my worst date," he drawled on a feigned sigh. "Could go down in Riggins history."

"Shut up," she said, before reaching over and stuffing a Swedish fish into his mouth, in the same second that she leaned in and brushed her lips against his.

It was so brief, he barely felt it. So he slipped a hand behind her head and held her close, slanting his mouth over hers in a proper kiss. He twisted his fingers in her soft hair and sighed as her mouth parted and his tongue slid in to flick the back of her teeth and drag along the roof of her mouth. She nipped at his lower lip lightly, her hand sliding up his chest and fisting his shirt. Back and forth, it was just a slow meeting and stroking of lips and tongue and scraping teeth. The lights dimmed and the screen flickered to life and he pulled back, eyes opening to stare at hers still closed. When she finally looked at him, he let out a heavy breath.

"Think it might go down in history for a different reason," he murmured.

"A good one?"

He nodded.

She laughed under her breath. "I always wanted to make history."

"Glad I could help out," he drawled lazily.

"Also..." She moved her tongue around in her mouth and then produced the Swedish fish that had been in his mouth. "You lose something?" she asked with it clasped between her teeth.

Chuckling, he wrapped his mouth around it, their lips pressed together, and bit off half. "Thanks," he said, before leaning back in his seat.

She mimicked him, chewing her half and looking at him from the corner of her eyes.

In anticipation of kissing her again, he didn't eat his popcorn.

It felt a bit high school to drop her back at her house, where he was pretty sure her dad was waiting up for her, but he couldn't say he cared much when she was leaning up to kiss him goodnight, snug against his side, her hair threaded around his fingers. They spent a good ten minutes in his idling truck, her hands sliding up his chest to stroke his neck, his thumbs stroking her cheeks as their mouths slanted together.

When the front light started flashing, he chuckled against her lips. "Think Coach wants you to come inside..."

She hummed, nipping his bottom lip. "He can wait." She kissed across his jawline and around behind his ear, tongue flicking his skin. "Think I'll get my own chapter in that Riggins History book?" she joked.

He slid his hand down her back and turned his eyes toward her. "More than one."

She tipped her head back to see him.

"What're you doin' tomorrow night?" he wondered, tucking her hair back from her face.

"Nothing I can think of."

"Go out with me again," he said, nodding. "There's a, uh..." His brow furrowed. "Music in the park thing happening. It's like a concert..."

She smiled slowly. "You want to go to Music in the Park?"

He shrugged. "Saw it on a flier..."

She bit her lip, swollen from their kissing. "Okay."

"Yeah?"

She chuckled. "You look surprised." She rubbed her thumb over his lips. "I had fun tonight."

"Probably the Swedish fish," he said, grinning.

She snorted. "Maybe." She shuffled across the seat of his truck and grabbed up her purse. "I guess we'll know for sure tomorrow." She pushed the door open and hopped down to the ground. "What time?"

"Think it starts at six," he said, watching her, head tipped. "I'll pick you up?"

"Okay." She closed the door and waved back at him as she walked toward the house.

Feeling good, Tim pulled the truck out and started for home. It wasn't until he pulled into the driveway that he found the bag of Swedish fish she'd left for him on the dashboard.

He was pretty sure Julie Taylor was one of a kind.

He met up with Billy the next day for lunch and, while it wasn't easy, tried not to pay too much attention to the sweating bottle of beer he ordered to drink.

"You're all right with this, right?" Billy asked, pointing at it.

He nodded shortly before turning back to his menu and looking it over.

"So you were at the game Friday," Billy said, leaning his elbows on the table. "Coach Taylor said you were comin' but I didn't see you."

He glanced at him and shrugged. "I was sittin' with the Taylors," he said simply.

"Yeah. Coach said his daughter invited you." He stared at Tim searchingly, his question obvious.

"Jules and I are seein' each other, if that's what you're gettin' at..."

"Hmm." He frowned. "You sure that's a good idea, little brother?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Would I be doin' it if I didn't?"

Billy snorted. "Wouldn't be the first time a girl got your head turned around, Timmy."

"Yeah, well, Julie's not like most girls," he muttered defensively, dropping his menu to the table.

"Hey, I'm not sayin' anything's wrong with her, I'm sayin' your taste in women can be... confused."

Tim turned his eyes off. "Confused," he repeated.

"Hey, I'm just lookin' out for you, okay? I... I don't want a repeat of what happened with Lyla, y'know? You— Ya got your heart broke bad over that girl."

He hummed, crossing his arms over his chest as he sat back in his booth.

"So just... be careful, is all I'm sayin'."

Tim nodded distantly, keeping quiet after that as they ate, listening to Billy as he talked about his family and work, but all the while his mind was elsewhere. As much as he wanted to think Julie was different from Lyla, it wasn't like he had a whole to go on to say she wasn't. They were just starting to date and, before that, they'd only really been friends for a few weeks. What was to say she wouldn't change or want him to change or somewhere down the road she might start to treat him like he wasn't good enough for her?

The insecurity of it made him start staring at the beer more avidly as Billy asked for a second. He just wanted it to stop, the whole damn cycle.

He was uncertain the rest of the afternoon, scraping his knuckles on an engine as he worked, distracted and eyeing the clock. A part of him almost wanted to call her up and cancel, make some kind of an excuse. But a stronger part of him told him to quit being a girl about it and just see what happened. He couldn't let Billy get in his head. He wasn't the same guy who went out with Lyla, wasn't that what John said? So maybe this situation, this relationship, would be completely different.

He could hope.

[**Next**: part iv.]


	4. iv

**Title**: Traded All My Empties In (Bought Myself A Future)  
**Category**: Friday Night Lights  
**Genre**: Drama/Family/Humor/Romance  
**Ship**: Tim/Julie  
**Rating**: Explicit/NC-17 (This is a scrubbed up version, since FFnet doesn't allow explicit material; to find the mature version, find me on AO3 or LJ)  
**Notes**: This was written as a oneshot, but it became so long that I had to break it up into pieces for easier reading. It's finished and I'll be posting regularly.  
**Word** **Count**: 5,106  
**Summary**: Tim Riggins is celebrating twenty-two years of sobriety; he reflects on his life, the ups and downs, and the family he never thought he'd get.

_**Traded All My Empties In (Bought Myself A Future)**_

**iv**.

Tim went home to shower and change into something clean before picking Julie up from her house. He nervously wiped his hands on his jeans as he walked up to her door, hoping neither of her parents would answer. He could already imagine Coach's greeting, a mix of raised eyebrows, hands on his hips, and impatience. He wasn't sure he could take having Coach tell him he didn't think Tim was the right fit for Julie. He'd made some progress and taking a hit like that to his pride, especially after what Billy said, wasn't real helpful.

Thankfully, it was Julie who opened the door, so he could shelve his insecurities for another night.

"Hey," she said, dragging a jean jacket on over her yellow sundress and slipping her feet into her shoes. She leaned up onto her tip toes to kiss him hello and his hands reached for her hips, steadying her.

She was still holding the doorknob, door only half-closed, distracted by his mouth moving over hers. They were pressed chest to chest, one of her hands curled around his shoulder. He could feel her long hair brushing the backs of his fingers.

"Hey," he said when they broke apart, his voice low and deep.

She licked her lip, glancing at his mouth briefly before she closed the door fully. "So Music in the Park," she said, falling back flat on her feet.

"You bring your dancin' shoes, Jules?"

They walked to his truck with her leaning into his side. "You plan on dancing with me?" She raised an eyebrow.

"I promise bruised toes if I do."

She laughed. "I think I can take it."

The park the concert was being held at had a few different vendors set up for food and drinks. They wandered around for a while just seeing what everyone had to off. Tim had a blanket tucked under one arm and Julie holding onto the other, their fingers tangled while her free hand was curved around his elbow.

"Pretty much all of these are BBQ's," she said, looking around.

He half-grinned. "What'd you expect? It's Dillon."

"I don't know." She shrugged. "Would it kill them to invite a little culture into their lives?"

"If it ain't broke, don't fix it."

She chuckled, rolling her eyes.

"They got jewelry over on that one," he said, nodding his head in the direction of the set up tent and tables.

Her brow furrowed. "At Music in the Park?"

"Anything to make a buck," he said, shrugging.

She hummed and then walked toward the display table. He watched her as she looked over earrings and necklaces, touching some, mostly the dangly ones, before moving on. There was a coat rack with fabric purses that drew her eye and she lingered there, fingering the material, asking if it was organic.

Tim could hear the music across the grassy field, a local band was announced but he couldn't say he knew them. The sound was decent enough anyway. There were a few people standing up to dance, a few clapping to the beat, while others just wandered around the vendors.

"Hey, are you thirsty?" Julie wondered, wandering back to him.

They bought a few iced teas before venturing out into the field and finding a place to lay out the blanket for them to sit on.

She leaned back on her arms, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle. There was a band up on the stage, playing an upbeat country song.

"Have you ever been here before?" she wondered.

He shook his head. "Probably drove by it a few times."

She smiled slowly. "Had better things to do. Parties to go to," she mused.

He shrugged. "Wouldn't say better, just different."

The sun was setting, painting the sky in a pinkish glow. Julie tipped her head back, her hair rustling in the breeze. He watched her, head balanced on his arm tucked underneath. Feeling his gaze, she turned to look at him and smiled. "What're you thinking?"

"'m happy I'm here," he said.

She turned over onto her side, head pillowed on her hand, elbow on the ground to hold her up. "What did you expect out of your life, Tim?" Her brow furrowed. "Before you stopped drinking, I mean."

"Honestly..." He smiled sadly. "Not much."

Her lips turned down in a frown. "What made you change?"

"Woke up one day and... Hated the way my life was goin'..." He shook his head. "It was bad." He looked at her. "You ever felt that way? You just... Take a look around and know it's not right; it's gotta change?"

She nodded. "With Matt..." She shrugged. "He's a great person and I loved him, but... One day I looked at him and... I didn't feel it anymore."

"Feel what?"

"Like we were bigger than the world..." Her eyes dropped to the ground. "My mom says eventually love just slows down, settles down, and you get comfortable. But that's not how she is with my dad. How me and Matt were, that's not like my parents." She bit her lip. "The way my parents look at each other, how they are with each other, they— They're not perfect, but there's something... _untouchable _about it. Like nobody else is ever going to compare to my mom for my dad... And before, I— I felt like that with Matt. Or I thought I did, but... It was fleeting. It was... It went away as quickly as it came, it felt like..." She shook her head. "And I think that just means that he wasn't the one." She looked over at him. "And he knew it. We fought a lot before we broke up. We were familiar and it was hard to let go, but... It just wasn't working anymore." She half-smiled. "So I changed it."

He watched her face. "I used to envy your parents," he told her. "Used to wonder how they made it work... Love always seemed so hard for me. Was difficult for me to find the right person or feel like I was good enough... Your parents though, they made it look easy." He shrugged. "Even when it wasn't. I'm sure they fight, but... I guess when it's right, it's right... You just gotta go with it, work at it." He nodded. "I want that."

Julie stared at him thoughtfully, lips turned up in a sweet smile.

As the song changed to something slower, he sat up, arms wrapped around his knees. "You ready for those bruised toes, Taylor?"

She looked up at him and grinned.

Tim stood from the blanket and pulled her up by her hands. They moved over to the glass and he brought her hands up to around his neck while his own smoothed down arms, over her back, and finally settled on her waist. It was a whole lot of shuffling side to side, thumbs rubbing back and forth on her sides, while his head was turned down to her. Her fingers stroked his neck, dragging her nails lightly over his hair.

"My mom used to make me dance with her when I was a kid," he said quietly, his hands sliding around to the small of her back and pulling her closer. "She'd put on some old record, cigarette in one hand while she used the other to move me around." He shook his head. "I hated it."

"Dancing?"

"The whole thing..." He licked his lips. "She was usually out of it... She'd start out happy when she was drinking but then she'd get sad, start crying or yelling at us..." He shrugged. "Sometimes I hear one of the songs she used to play though and... forgive her, I guess. Wish she was still around..."

Julie hugged her arms around him tighter and pressed her cheek against his chest. "It was her loss..." she murmured.

"Maybe... Or maybe it was better she wasn't around to see me screw up."

Julie tipped her head back to look at him meaningfully. "Doing something right isn't half as big when you didn't do something wrong to begin with..." She shook her head. "People who always do the right thing, that's just in their nature. But when you make your mistakes, you learn from them and make them right...? Those are the real triumphs." She nodded. "And even if she wasn't proud, it doesn't matter..." She squeezed him. "The only person you need to make proud is you." She eyed him. "Are you proud?"

He swallowed tightly and gave her a nod.

"Good." She smoothed her hands over his shoulders. "'Cause you should be."

"You gonna be my personal cheerleader, Jules?"

She smiled lopsidedly up at him. "You wish, Riggins."

"Think you'd look pretty good with pom-poms," he said, leering playfully.

She snorted. "Keep dreaming." She shook her head. "It's never happening."

"Guess I'll just have to settle for that librarian fantasy."

She choked on a laugh. "Should I get some horn-rimmed glasses, too?" she snarked, eyebrow quirked.

"Whatever works for ya."

Biting her lip, she pulled his head down to kiss him.

His arms tightened around her as they stopped dancing altogether, just standing, pressed together, a tangle of arms and mouths. Eventually, they made their way back to the blanket trading lazy kisses, legs tangled together, arms wrapped around one another, the music filling in all the empty space. The rest of their date was spent like that, his fingers dragging through her hair absently, hers drumming on his chest to the beat.

When he brought her home that night, her hair was messy and her lips swollen and he almost thought Coach Taylor was gonna come out of the house with a shotgun. But she just combed her fingers through her hair and rolled her eyes. "You know I'm an adult now, right?"

"Never stop bein' daddies little girl," he mused, eyeing the door.

"Well, daddy's little girl might've found a new apartment, so you can stop worrying."

His eyebrows hiked. "Yeah? Where?"

Julie rattled off the address. "Actually, I'm checking it out tomorrow. Dad was going to come with me, since he doesn't think I'll check everything before I sign a lease, but he's got something to do with work so he cancelled." She tucked her hair behind her ear. "Did you want to come? He'll probably trust your judgement on this better than mine."

"Sure." He nodded. "What time?"

"How's three?"

"I'll pick you up."

She grinned. "I have a car."

He shrugged. "Saves on gas. You're big on the environment, aren't you?"

She scoffed, her eyes wide, brows hiked. "Hate to break it to you, but I'm pretty sure my car is a lot more environmentally sound compared to your old truck."

"Yeah, but mine's got leg room."

Rolling her eyes, she leaned up to kiss him quickly. "Pick me up from work at two-thirty?"

"Okay."

"Night." She hopped out.

He watched her as she walked up to the house before finally pulling away. As he drove home, he remembered his mother's perfume as they danced, mixed with the bitter scent of cigarette smoke. And then he thought of Julie and how she smelled like lilacs and fresh air. He thought he might want to hold onto that memory a little tighter than the other one; might just serve him better in the long run.

The following afternoon, Tim picked Julie up right on time. The apartment they checked out was good, but needed some serious repairs. Tim mentioned to the landlord that the carpet was pretty beat-up and got a promise that they'd put a new one in. He criticized the paint too and found a few dings in the wall and some damage to the linoleum in the kitchen. "This fridge is on its last leg," he said, pointing a thumb back at it.

"We have another one we can put in," the landlord assured, watching him as he walked around.

He crossed his arms loosely. Fingers tapping against his ribs, he shrugged. "Well, what d'you think, Jules?"

She took a look around and walked to the balcony, opening the door to take a look outside before leaving it open to air out the apartment. "It's all right..." She chewed her lip thoughtfully. "The rent's not bad."

He rubbed his chin, nodding. "You got a repair-man for the floor and walls?" he asked, turning to the man next to him.

The landlord paused before shaking his head. "We have a guy, but he's..." He put on a 'what-can-you-do?' smile. "I don't know when he'd be able to get any of it fixed is all…"

Tim hummed. "So let's say we repair it," he suggested. "Paint, put in new carpets and linoleum, fix the holes in the wall..." He eyed him. "And you take the cost off the rent."

The man looked around at the apartment critically, grimacing to himself before finally nodding. "Deal."

"Jules?" Tim looked back at her. "Whaddya say?"

She grinned at him. "I'm in."

The landlord agreed to write up an agreement that fit the situation and they left satisfied.

Julie was giddy, jumping on him with a hug. "You have no idea how excited I am." She squeezed him. "Finally, no more coming home and feeling like I have to check the clock to see if I missed curfew."

He chuckled under his breath.

As she dropped back down to her feet, she hiked her eyebrows. "Let's celebrate."

"Yeah? What do you wanna do?"

She thought it over for a second before grinning. "Let's go to the lake."

He raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Not exactly swimming season..."

Rolling her eyes, she waved a dismissive hand. "So we'll roast marshmallows."

He shrugged. "As the lady commands," he drawled.

On the drive out, Tim found himself second-guessing it. The lake was somewhere he, Jason, and Lyla used to hang out a lot. Sometimes drunk, others not; sometimes stealing boats, other times not. He wondered what memories it would kick up and if any of them might lead to him feeling like a drink was a good idea. He tried to remember what John always told him though; he could only avoid for so long, eventually he'd have to face things. And they would always be waiting there for him, whether he wanted them to be or not.

"You okay?"

"Hm?" He looked down at her and found her staring at him curiously.

"You're looking kind of far away… What's up?"

He shook his head, turning his eyes back to the road. "What? Never pegged me for a thinker?"

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. Keep it to yourself. I'll be right here when you wanna talk about it," she said, smiling lightly.

He nodded, but kept his mouth shut.

When they finally got to the lake and he set up a fire, he realized he was worrying for nothing. They'd stopped at a store where Julie grabbed marshmallows, chocolate, and graham crackers, and they were now in full swing of making s'mores.

Julie was turning her stick over slowly, browning her marshmallow, hair tied back in a ponytail and elbows resting on her knees. He watched her, the firelight flickering over her face.

"What?" she said, turning her eyes up to look at him, smiling.

He shook his head and reached over to grab one of the sodas they'd picked up. "You want one?"

"Pass," she said, bringing her stick in closer and grabbing up the box of graham crackers. "Chocolate?" she asked.

He broke off a square and put it on top of the graham cracker she had in her palm. She put the marshmallow on top of it and then closed it with the top cracker before pulling the stick free. Biting off a corner, she laughed as the gooey marshmallow created a mess on her fingers and chin. Handing it to him, she licked her fingers clean and wiped at her chin with her palm.

"It's a good thing we're by the lake," she said, wrinkling her nose. "Pretty sure I'm going to need it." She stretched her sticky fingers and then took her s'more back.

Tim used one of the other sticks to draw random patterns in the dirt, his free hand holding his can of root beer on his knee. "Used to come out here with Street a lot," he finally told her, voice carefully detached.

"Yeah?" She picked at her graham crackers. "Do you talk to him much?"

He shrugged. "Try to. He's busy down there. He's got work and Erin and Noah, so..."

She nodded. "Did you tell him about your one year?"

His lips pursed and he shook his head shortly, staring down at the dirt.

Julie pressed into his side and held up her s'more.

He leaned down to take a bite and sat pensively chewing.

"Sometimes it's hard to tell the people we care about the things that matter to us..." She slid her arm around his and squeezed. "Especially since they know us best... They get us. So if we tell them and they don't believe us or they're not supportive, then we don't really believe in ourselves."

He turned to look at her. "Think your mom's old counseling job is rubbin' off on you, Jules."

She smiled, shrugging a shoulder. "I just think, I mean I don't know Jason like you do, but..." She looked up at him. "You guys've been through a lot and... I think he'd be supportive." She nodded. "It's what best friends do."

He hummed thoughtfully before turning his eyes back to the fire.

"Hey, so have you thought about going to visit with my dad? Watch game tape?" she wondered, looking amused.

"Yeah, I have some free time this week..." He licked his lips and looked down at her. "He gonna give me the third degree about us?" he wondered.

Her lips twitched with a smile. "Pretty much."

"So… when he asks, what am I supposed to say?"

She turned her head back to look at him. "What do you wanna say?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I like you... I wanna see where this is going..." He looked into her eyes searchingly. "I'm not gonna lie to your dad about that and I'm hopin' you don't want me to."

She shook her head slowly. "I'm not hiding you, Tim."

His chest gave a lurch and he turned his eyes away as his mouth curved up in a smile. "You sure? You know those Riggins boys are trouble," he joked.

Julie stretched up and kissed him gently. "I'm sure," she murmured.

He stared down at her mouth a long second before pressing his lips to hers. He chuckled lowly as he pulled back. "Taste like marshmallows."

"You taste like root beer..." She kissed him, sucking his lip between her teeth. "I like it."

He buried a hand in her hair, cradling her head as he leaned into her, meeting her slanting lips. She went to put her arms around him but stopped.

"My fingers are sticky," she said, pulling back. She pecked his lips once, twice, and then stood from the log they were sitting on to walk down to the lake and wash her hands off. He followed after her, watching as she flicked her hands and fingers to get the water off before turning around to walk back, startled when he was so close.

He reached down, arms wrapping around her waist, and picked her up. Her arms circled his neck as she leaned down to kiss him. Her fingers were cold on his face and neck, making him shiver, nipping at her lips. She hooked her legs on his hips and turned her face down to kiss his neck while he walked them back to the log. He took a seat on the ground so he could lean back against it, his hands stretching up Julie's back as she unbuttoned his shirt, pushing the fabric away so she could kiss along his shoulder and chest.

They spent a couple hours like that, trading kisses, hands wandering under clothes, parting randomly to share a root beer or roast a marshmallow before they'd be distracted with each other again. It was pitch-black out and the fire was getting low; Julie was stretched out on top of him, leaning against his chest, her head on his shoulder, as her hand rubbed up and down his chest under the cover of his half unbuttoned plaid shirt.

"We should head back," he said, fingers combing absently through her hair.

"Hmm..." She turned her head up. "We should stop at the Alamo and grab something to eat. These marshmallows aren't exactly the dinner of champions."

He nodded. "You gonna tell your parents you found a new place?" he wondered.

Julie climbed off of him and started gathering their soda cans. "Yeah. I was kind of hoping I could fix it up before dad sees it though. He'll be happy you got a deal for the repairs, but he's so picky..." She shrugged. "I don't want him judging it before it's finished, you know?"

He nodded, grabbing up the bag of marshmallows, box of graham crackers, and what was left of the chocolate. "I'll ask Billy to give me a hand," he said. "We can get it fixed up pretty quick, I think."

"Hey, I really appreciate it," she told him, standing up to face him. "I mean, you don't have to do that... It's really cool that you offered and you got me the deal and everything, but I know you're busy, with the shop and everything, so-"

"Jules?" He raised an eyebrow, amused. "I said I'd do it and I will..." He stared down at her. "I built my own house; I think I can put in a carpet and some linoleum for you."

She smiled sheepishly. "Thank you."

He bent to kiss her forehead. "No problem."

As he walked toward the truck, hands full, Julie doused the fire before joining him.

They stopped at the Alamo Freeze for dinner before he brought her home, the drive spent in comfortable silence until he was idling in her driveway.

"I had fun," she said, kissing him. "And thank you for all your help."

He nodded.

"So I'll tell dad you'll call him sometime this week?" she wondered, moving toward the truck door.

"Yeah. Give me a day or two to make sure everything's covered."

"Okay." She hopped down from the truck, saying goodnight before she walked away.

Making his way home, Tim considered the last few days. He and Julie felt like they were making a lot of progress quickly and he liked it. It was the first time in as long as he'd been interested in girls that he felt like he was all there; like he was one hundred percent committed and involved in the relationship. Even with Lyla, who he sure as hell had loved, he'd been drunk for too much of their relationship and while he'd tried hard to be good enough for her he felt like the bar was always being raised too high for him to reach. He and Julie were just starting out, but already he felt like they were on more equal footing.

The following afternoon, he went over to visit Billy to see if he'd help him with the repairs.

"You're really goin' all in, huh?" Billy leaned back in his lawn chair, glancing every once in a while at his kids playing.

Tim ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "Things're different with Julie, okay? I know you're worried, but this is happening... I'm sober, I'm making this decision on my own, I just need you to support it."

He stared at him a long second, frowning. "All right..." He shook his head. "I got some time this weekend; I can help you tear out the carpet and the linoleum."

He grinned slowly. "Thanks."

"It's not that I don't think you can handle a relationship, Timmy..." Billy stared at him seriously. "I'm just real proud of how far you've come and I don't want to see some girl mess that up for you."

He nodded. "I know. I get it."

"Good." He sat back, more relaxed. "Coach know you're gettin' friendly with his daughter?" he wondered, smirking.

"Probably. If not, he's gonna." He licked his lips and shrugged. "Goin' over to see him on Thursday. Watch some game tape, tell him I'm with Julie..."

Billy laughed. "You let me know how that goes."

He grinned, rolling his eyes. "Let's just hope I make it out alive."

Billy reached over to knock Tim's bottle of water with his beer in cheers. "Amen."

Thursday was fast approaching and Tim was starting to feel nervous. He talked to John about it, but his only advice was that if it was important then, nerves or not, he needed to talk to the Coach about what was happening with him and Julie.

"Look, son, I get it... This is someone you looked up to and you think he might just tell you you're not good enough or he doesn't want you with his little girl..."

Tim nodded.

"But it ain't him you're datin'... Julie's a grown woman, she makes her own decisions. You don't base your own worth on what someone else thinks." He shook his head, reaching up to scratch his fingers through his beard. "Hell, Johanna's parents hated me when they met me. Told me every time they saw me too." He waved a hand around. "Turned out all right in the end, didn't it?" He nodded shortly. "And that's 'cause I knew Johanna was it for me and I had to make it happen, whether her daddy wanted me to or not." He shook his head. "You ain't ever gonna meet a dad who wants you to date their daughter. You know why?"

Tim had a few ideas, none of them too forgiving.

"'Cause they don't want 'em to grow up or fall in love or leave 'em behind. Long as the most important man in their lives is they daddy, then they don't have to worry about their little girls gettin' their heart broken."

He nodded.

"You like this Julie?"

"A lot."

"Then you gotta face the music, boy."

He sighed, but knew he was right.

And all that conversation about facing fears and doing things even when they were hard got him thinking…

Wednesday night, Tim called Jason. It was Erin who picked up and told him to wait while she got him.

It was a few minutes before he heard Jason's happy voice on the other line, "Riggs, that you?"

Tim grinned widely. "Yeah. How you been?"

"Good, good. Busy... Between work and Noah, it's been hectic."

"Yeah, no, I get it," he said, leaning back in the porch chair he'd built with his own two hands, and probably still had the slivers under his skin to prove it. "Listen, uh... There's somethin' I been meanin' to talk to you about…"

"Shoot."

Tim cleared his throat, trying and failing to start a few times. Finally, he ran a hand through his hair and blew out a sigh. "I, uh... I thought this'd be easier."

"What is it?" He laughed awkwardly. "You're startin' to worry me, man."

"No, it's— It's not bad. It— It's good. I just..." He took in a deep breath. "I, uh, I got sober, I guess..."

"You... got sober," he repeated, sounding confused.

"Yeah, uh..." He sighed, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Last year, I just... I dunno, I— I woke up and realized my life was just... Wasn't what I wanted it to be, so... I quit drinkin', found these, uh, meetings to go to, really helped..." He nodded, shifting in his seat. "'Bout a month back, I— I celebrated one year."

"A year," he repeated. "Wow, that... Tim that's great."

"Yeah?" he asked skeptically.

"You kiddin'? Of course it is! Listen, I... I know we don't talk much anymore and, y'know, I was there the whole time you were drinkin', I never really stopped you, but... If this is what you want, if this makes you happy, then yeah, it— it's really great."

Relief flooded through him. "It does. It is..."

Jason laughed. "What'd you think I was gonna say?"

"I dunno, I... Guess I wasn't sure you'd believe I really did it."

"You're as stubborn as they come, Riggs... You make a decision to quit drinkin' then I know you're gonna do it."

He half-smiled. "It's been better, y'know? I, uh... I dunno, I feel clearer..."

"That's real good. I— I'm proud of you."

He nodded, his throat a little tight. "How, uh, how's Erin and Noah?" he asked, changing the subject.

Jason went with it, always happy to talk about his family. They were on the phone for nearly an hour when he asked, "What about you? You seein' anybody or...?"

"Uh, yeah..." He hugged an arm around his chest and shrugged. "Julie came back to town a little while back... We're seein' each other."

"Julie... Julie Taylor?" he asked, sounding incredulous. "You mean Saracen's girl?"

"Ex," he corrected. "They broke up a while back. She moved back here, got a job at the newspaper..."

"You're seein' each other... Like, exclusively."

He nodded. "She's... somethin' else."

"How's Coach takin' that?"

"I'll be findin' out tomorrow... He invited me over to watch game tape..." He shifted uncomfortably. "We've been hanging out for a while, me and Jules, just as friends, but I think he knows something's changed."

"Yeah," he snorted. "You're... You're sure about this? I mean, Julie Taylor's..."

He smiled slowly. "It's good. We're good."

"Okay..." He sighed. "I'll trust you on that. I don't really know the girl all that well."

"She's one of the good ones, Street. You'd like her."

"Well, I'll have to meet her. She... knows about your sobriety?"

"Yeah... She's the first person besides Billy that I talked to about it..." He cleared his throat. "Wanted to tell you, I just... Needed to know I could do it, y'know?"

"Yeah...Hey, I get it."

"Went to the Lions game on Friday," he said, changing the subject.

"And? How were they?"

The rest of the conversation was lighthearted catching up and, for that, Tim was grateful. He said what needed saying and he didn't want to dwell on it after. The relief was overwhelming. He had to hand it to John, he knew what he was talking about.

Now if only the conversation with Coach would come out the same, he'd be set.

[**Next**: v.]


	5. v

**Title**: Traded All My Empties In (Bought Myself A Future)  
**Category**: Friday Night Lights  
**Genre**: Drama/Family/Humor/Romance  
**Ship**: Tim/Julie  
**Rating**: Explicit/NC-17 (This is a scrubbed up version, since FFnet doesn't allow explicit material; to find the mature version, find me on AO3 or LJ)  
**Notes**: This was written as a oneshot, but it became so long that I had to break it up into pieces for easier reading. It's finished and I'll be posting regularly.  
**Word** **Count**: 5,981  
**Summary**: Tim Riggins is celebrating twenty-two years of sobriety; he reflects on his life, the ups and downs, and the family he never thought he'd get.

_**Traded All My Empties In (Bought Myself A Future)**_

**v**.

When Tim went over to the Taylor house, he was still feeling nervous, but resolved. If Coach said he wasn't good enough, he'd just have to prove he was. And if he didn't, if he supported them dating, then bonus. His worrying would all be for nothing.

Taking a deep breath, he rapped his knuckles on the wood door and waited.

The door swung open with Julie on the other side. "Hey," she greeted, smiling up at him. She jangled her keys at him. "I'm taking mom and Gracie Belle out for lunch, so you've got him all to yourself."

He grimaced.

She chuckled under her breath and leaned up on her tip-toes to kiss him. "Have fun."

He hummed, pecking her lips. "I'll try."

She dropped down to her heels and reached for a jacket.

"Hey Tim," Tami said as she joined them, Gracie Belle at her side. "Eric's just in the living room, getting his tapes ready. He's lookin' real forward to seeing you."

"Thanks, Mrs. Coach." He stepped out of the way for them to pass and waved. "Have fun."

"You too, hon."

Julie winked at him before she climbed into her car.

Taking a deep breath, Tim stepped inside, closing the door and kicking his shoes off.

He found Coach Taylor where his wife said he'd be, intensely going over his tapes.

"Hey Coach," he greeted before taking a seat in the armchair.

"Riggins, hey." He pressed pause and looked over at him. "You want somethin' to drink, son? We got water, juice, and soda."

"Water's good."

He nodded. "It's in the fridge. Grab me one when you're there."

Amused, Tim stood and walked into the kitchen. He tossed a bottle to him before taking his seat again.

"Watch this play, tell me what you see," the Coach ordered, pushing play.

For the first hour, there was nothing but game tape and criticism over footwork, they discussed what went wrong or right, what could be done differently, and stayed completely devoted to the game.

And then, in the middle of a Hail Mary pass, Coach asked him, "So you're dating my daughter, is that right?"

Tim went completely still and dragged his eyes from the screen to look at him. "I am, sir."

"This been going on a while?" he wondered, staring at him searchingly, his face tense.

He shook his head. "Since Saturday."

"You were just friends before that, is that what you're sayin'?"

He nodded.

Eric pursed his lips and dragged a hand through his hair. "You understand why I'm a little concerned about this, son?" He raised an eyebrow. "You don't have the best reputation with women."

"That was before," he said, gripping his hands together in his lap. "All due respect, Coach, but I'm not the same person I was before I got sober..." He stared at him seriously. "I take what's happening between me and Julie seriously."

"And I'm real glad that you've come so far. It's good to see you makin' progress, gettin' your head on straight…"

Tim could hear the 'but' coming and waited for him to continue.

"But I don't want my daughter to just be a part of your picture perfect world." His brows furrowed. "Are you even sure you're ready to be dating? You made a big change to your life..."

"It's been over a year since I drank. I'm not sayin' I don't still get the urge. It's probably always gonna be there. But I'm tryin' real damn hard not to. I don't want that life anymore. And Julie..." He sighed, lifting his chin to look at him straight-on. "Julie was unexpected. I didn't think she'd come along but she did..." He shook his head. "And I care about her. I think she cares about me too."

He snorted. "I know she does. She can't stop talkin' about how great you're doin'. She's singin' your praises every night at dinner." He sat back in his seat and frowned thoughtfully.

Tim dropped his gaze to his lap, trying to hide his pleased smile.

"Never thought I'd be sayin' this," Coach sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Look, Riggins..." He sat forward and clasped his hands, elbows resting on his knees, as he stared at Tim sternly. "I'm gonna give you the benefit of the doubt here..." His eyebrows hiked. "My daughter likes you, my wife thinks you're really taking this sobriety thing seriously, so I'm gonna trust their judgement..." He nodded. "You wanna date Julie, you just treat her to the best possible degree there is... You understand?"

He didn't say anything for a second, honestly surprised he was getting approval.

At Coach's impatient expression, he finally said, "Yes, sir."

"Good." He nodded. With a sigh, he said, "Now how's business?"

Tim grinned; now this he didn't have any trouble talking about.

By the time the Taylor women got home, Tim and Coach were laughing about some of the stupid stories each of them had over team mates and players over the years.

"You guys look like you're havin' fun," Tami noted, looking at each of them.

Eric let out a long, amused sigh. "Just reminiscing," he said, grinning.

"Tim, hon, you stayin' for dinner?"

"Uh..." Tim looked from Coach to Julie.

"He is," they both said at the same time before exchanging a look. Julie rolled her eyes at her dad.

"Guess that's a yes," Tami said, amused.

"Jules, why don't you get your boyfriend and me another drink?" Coach suggested, looking at her expectantly.

Her eyes widened before she jutted out her hip and crossed her arms. "Last I checked, you and my boyfriend both had working legs."

Tim chuckled under his breath before pushing up from the chair. "I'll grab 'em, Coach." As he passed Julie, he kissed the top of her head.

"Now was that any way to treat a guest?" her dad asked her. "How's that for hospitable?"

"Well I don't like being ordered around," she argued.

"It wasn't an order," he denied. "I was not ordering you."

"Sounded like it."

Tim smiled as he listened to them bicker lightheartedly.

It felt good, to be accepted, trusted, and to want to live up to those standards the Coach had set, but just like with John's respect, it was damn daunting too.

After dinner, Julie walked him out, letting the door close behind her as they walked down the lawn to his truck, her hands tucked in the back pockets of her jeans.

"So?" She paused, turning to face him, her back leaning against his Chevy. "I'm guessing it wasn't too bad… You have all your limbs, you were allowed to stay for dinner…" She reached out, taking his jacket in hand and giving it a little tug to pull him toward her. "I didn't see any blood…"

He laughed under his breath and she answered with a smile. "No, it was good…" He nodded. "Gave me a little speech about treatin' you like you deserved, said he was gonna trust his wife and daughter that I'm a good, worthy person…" he said with an air of sarcasm.

She pursed her lips at him. "Yeah? So why do I get the feeling you're not sure?"

He sighed, resting his hands on her hips. "That's a lot of responsibility, Jules…" He stared down at her. "Your dad, trusting me..."

She shrugged. "I trust you."

He let that sink in for a second and then ducked his eyes. "_Why?_" he wondered, brow furrowing.

"You've screwed up a lot," she started.

He laughed, lips curled in a smile that said 'that's an understatement.'

"And so have I, just maybe not to the same extremes, but…" She smoothed her hands down his front. "Look, Tim, I… I think second chances matter and I think you shouldn't judge a book too quickly…" She shrugged. "If I'd done that, I wouldn't have Tyra for a best friend and I wouldn't have dated Matt, who, yes, even if we did break up, was still a really great guy that I—I'm happy I dated." She stared up at him from under her lashes. "You're not perfect. _I'm_ not perfect." She shook her head. "But I don't know… I—I feel something when I'm with you and—" She rolled her eyes. "It's not just sexual or whatever, so don't make a joke about how a lot of girls have felt things around you."

He licked his lips, amused.

"The thing is, I… I like it when we're together and I like who you are… Even when you were drinking." She stared up at him sincerely. "There were still redeemable qualities, even if you don't think there were. You did a lot of good things; they were just overshadowed by some of the not-so-good things."

"Probably because there was more not-so-good than good," he mused.

"The point is…" She lifted her chin. "Like you said, there's something here between us and I want to explore it." She nodded shortly. "So we will. And to do that, I have to trust that you're as…" She shook her head. "As involved and dedicated to it as I am. Make sense?"

He nodded. "Yeah." He bent his head toward her, their foreheads touching, and rubbed his fingers over her hips. "And I am... Might not have a whole bunch of flowery words for you, but I'm in this. One hundred percent."

She smiled. "I know." She tipped her head back and kissed him, just lips pressed together for a few seconds before she parted hers and let her tongue drag over the seam of his mouth. Her hands slid up, fingers tangling in his hair, holding him tight and close. His body flattened over hers against the truck and his arms wrapped tight around her, hands splayed out over her back.

For a few minutes, all he could hear was their thick breaths meeting in between slanting mouths and the hammering of his heartbeat as his fingers gripped her shirt and their hips locked together.

"We're in front of my house," she finally said, her voice thick and heavy. "If my dad sees us, I don't know how friendly he'll be next time."

"Next time?"

She grinned. "Mom wants you to come back for dinner next week, same day and time." Her brows hiked. "If you're okay with that?"

"No, yeah, that—that's all right," he said, licking his lips and leaning back from her.

"Yeah?" She frowned. "Because we've only been on a few dates and I don't want you to feel pressured or anything."

He laughed, ducking his head. "We said we'd explore it, right?" He shrugged. "Might as well put all our cards on the table."

She snorted, hands settling down on his waist again, absently playing with his shirt. "Yeah, well, my cards hold a short-tempered football Coach and a former counselor who really likes to talk feelings, so…"

"Don't forget your sister," he reminded. "Bright side, she grew out of that weird lookin' stage she was in."

She slapped his chest, laughing under her breath.

He half-smiled and gave her a nod. "I'll be here, next week, right on time."

She bit her lip. "Okay."

"Okay."

She was just getting ready to go back inside when he said, "And this weekend, me and Billy are gonna start on the apartment."

Her brows hiked. "Really?"

He nodded. "Yeah, we'll start tearing out carpet or somethin'." He shrugged. "He's got some time, we'll figure out where we wanna start when I show him the place."

"You talked to the landlord?"

"He said to drop by on Friday, pick up the keys."

"Great," she said, grinning.

He nodded.

"I should go back in before they start peeking out the windows," she said, pointing a thumb back at the house. "I'll see you."

"Yeah." He started for the driver's door of his truck, watching her walk up the lawn, and then paused. "Hey, what are you doin' for lunch tomorrow?"

Arms crossed over her chest, she turned to look back at him. "Bringing you something from the Alamo," she said.

He grinned, nodding, and waved a hand before hopping into his truck.

This trust thing might just be better than he expected.

That weekend, Tim was reminded that Julie was a special breed of woman.

"Do I need to be here for this?" Billy wondered as they walked up and down aisle after aisle of carpeting.

"If I have to, you have to," Tim muttered back.

"What about this one?" Julie asked, stopping in front of a green chunk of carpet on display. She frowned. "What color are we painting the walls?"

"Landlord said to keep it neutral, so white or beige," Tim said, stopping behind her, hands on his hips.

"Hmm." She wrinkled her nose. "You think this is too generic then?" she wondered, fingering the display square.

"Even if it ain't, it's just ugly," Billy piped up, staring down at it with a frown.

Julie gave him a withering look. "It's not ugly, it's Oolong Tea and it's from the Martha Stuart collection."

"Which is probably why it costs so damn much," he complained, eyeing the price tag.

She rolled her eyes. "It goes toward rent anyway."

"Still means you gotta shell it out of pocket now."

"If this is the one you want, Jules, let's grab someone and get it," Tim interrupted. "Preferably before you two spill blood on anything."

"It's not my fault Billy doesn't have an eye for home decoration." She stared up at his brother with a smirk.

"Hey, I furnished my whole house all by myself…" He shifted his feet. "'Til me and Mindy happened and she refurnished it."

She raised an eyebrow, looking smug. "Case closed." Turning on her heel, long hair whipping behind her, nearly slapping Billy in the face, she started walking. "I've changed my mind. I'm thinking something more…" She waved her hands around. "Gray." She nodded. "Yeah. And _oh!_ Something with a pattern on it."

"What the hell've you gotten me into?" Billy whispered harshly at his brother.

Tim just shrugged. "You're married to Mindy, Billy…" He snorted. "Like you don't know how to get along with a demanding woman."

"Yeah, well, it's different when that woman's your wife…" He grimaced down the aisle toward Julie. "You really sure you wanna get into this?"

"Why? 'Cause she's particular about what carpeting she gets?" He scoffed. "Yeah, I think I'll keep seein' her." He walked off after her, shaking his head as he heard his brother mutter, "Your funeral," behind him.

Wrapping his arms around Julie's waist, he ducked his chin down to her shoulder. "Find anything?"

"What do you think… about this one?" she said, digging out a sample. "It's called Wrought Iron." She rubbed her fingers over the criss-cross pattern. "I know it looks more black than grey, but… I like it."

He nodded. "S' nice."

"Yeah?" She looked up at him, brow raised. "You're not just saying that?"

He half-grinned. "No. It's a nice carpet."

She smiled. "Good." She tapped it. "Then we'll get it."

Billy sighed with relief as he joined them.

"Now we just need to look at linoleum and paint," she said brightly.

Billy groaned, shoulders slumping.

"How about we get the carpet and some lunch and leave the other stuff 'til we get to it?" Tim suggested.

She stared up at him, lips pursed thoughtfully, and then nodded. "Sure." She looked around and then spotted a salesman. "I'm going to get someone to help us with the carpet."

As she walked away, Tim held a hand up and Billy high-fived it.

"You just gotta go with it," he said, shrugging. "Julie always knows what she wants. She won't settle for less."

Billy stared at him a long second and then gave a nod. "Maybe she does."

Tim looked at him, brow furrowed.

"I'm just sayin'… Maybe you were right. You seem to be… I dunno, not changed exactly, just… Calm. Like you know what you're doin' with her and you got your head on your shoulders." He reached over and gave him a slap on the back. "Little high maintenance, but then that's always been your type."

He snorted. "Yeah… Has been…" He stared down the aisle at Julie, who was waving her hands around as she explained something to the worker. "She's different though…" He crossed his arms loosely over his chest. "Don't know how yet, just is."

As she started walking back toward them, she grinned in his direction, looking excited that they'd made progress. He smiled right back, happy for her.

Fixing up Julie's apartment was left mostly for the weekends, although there were a few times after work that Tim would stop by to see if he could get anything done before he headed home. Oftentimes, he was on his own. Billy had work and his family to think about and Julie wasn't the handiest person around, although she looked damn cute with paint splattered all over her.

"Think you got more on you than the walls," he said, smiling at her as she stood in what would be her bedroom, wearing jean shorts and one of her dad's old Panther's sweaters.

"Hey!" she argued on a laugh. "I think I'm a pretty good painter." She put her hand to her hip, the other one holding the dripping brush up.

"Yeah, you're paintin' a nice self-portrait there," he teased, raising an eyebrow.

As paint dribbled down her hand, she wrung her hand quickly to make it stop, but the abrupt movement had flicked paint off and it splattered over his chest.

He let out a sigh and looked down at himself. "This was a good shirt."

Biting her lip, Julie tried to cover her smile. "Um, I guess I'm better at painting you then, huh?"

He let out a laugh and smirked in her direction. As he started toward her, she let out a shriek and backed up. "Don't!"

He grinned, reaching down to grab up a free brush and dunking it in the tray of paint. "What? You asked me to help you paint, Jules…"

"Tim…" she said warningly, her eyes wide, but she was smiling, giving herself away.

He ran at her and she darted left. He caught her around her waist easily and lifted her off the ground. He wiped the brush down her cheek, painting it a bright, pristine white.

She let out a noise and kicked her feet, wiggling in his arms. "Ugh!" She turned her hand up and stroked the brush down his bicep, leaving a long, thick strip of paint behind.

He dragged his down her neck and over the front of her sweater.

"Okay, okay, give!" she laughed.

He dropped her down to her feet and she turned to him. Some of her hair had slipped out of her ponytail and was stuck to her painted cheek. "So maybe you were right…" She rolled her eyes. "I'm not much of a painter."

He shook his head and reached for her, cupping her chin in his fingers. "No, but you're cute." He ducked his head down and kissed her, sucking on her bottom lip and giving it a nip before he pulled back. "And you don't look half-bad wearing paint."

"Half-bad?" She raised an eyebrow. She reached across and swept her brush across his chest in one long stroke. "Care to rethink your statement, Mister Riggins?"

He tossed his brush in the general direction of the pan, happy he threw down a drop cloth to guard the carpet, and reached for her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her in close. Their equally painted chests stuck together and he turned his chin down to face her. "You are lookin' mighty fine today, Miss Julie, paint and all."

"Mm-hmm." She nodded, tilting her head back. "Much better." She pushed up to her tip-toes and nuzzled his nose before kissing him, sliding her arms around his neck, letting the brush fall from her grip before her paint-sticky fingers tangled in his hair.

It was safe to say little painting got done after that, but they did make out on the drop cloth for a good long while. Tim chalked that up to a good work day… even if it was a bitch trying to get that paint off him and his hair later that night.

A few days later, when he and Billy got a chance to tear up the linoleum one afternoon, Julie dropped by with a late lunch.

"I've brought dead animal," she announced as she walked into the apartment, spotting the Riggins men in the kitchen. "Wow… This is…" She looked around them. "Messy."

Billy dragged an arm over his sweaty forehead. "Well, it ain't standin' on the sidelines shoutin' at high schoolers to get their ass in gear…" He pushed on his knees to stand upright. "And I at least get paid for that."

Julie smiled at him. "How about a milkshake instead?" she offered, holding one out to him.

He raised an eyebrow.

"It's chocolate…" she said, widening her eyes for emphasis.

He snorted. "It's a start." He took it from her and sucked up a long drink.

"Uh-huh." She rolled her eyes and walked past him toward the empty living room, where only a couple of foldable metal chairs sat and a beat-up radio was crooning, occasionally falling prey to static. "All right, so I brought you both each two burgers, large fries, extra ketchup, napkins even though you won't use 'em, _annnd_… salt."

"All right, she's growin' on me," Billy said, wandering in after her and stealing one of the chairs.

Tim snorted, joining them and pausing to kiss Julie in hello before he took the other seat. She knelt by the open bags, taking out each item and handing it to them before sitting back on her butt, legs crossed and nibbling on her spicy chicken burger.

"How's it comin'?" she asked, mouth half-full.

"It's comin'," Tim said, looking over at the mess. "Linoleum was old, took some work gettin' it up. Billy was kinda worried there was water damage underneath, but it was fine."

"That's good." She nodded. "So we can go linoleum shopping soon then?"

Billy groaned and took a large bite of his burger to keep from complaining.

"I was thinkin' this Tuesday," Tim told her. "We'll go pick it out after work."

"Sure." She flicked a smile at Billy. "Just the two of us; wouldn't want to subject your brother to the torture of shopping with me."

"Damn women are so indecisive," he muttered, digging out some fries. "The hell's it matter what it looks like? You're walkin' on it every day."

"I have to see it every day too," she reminded, shaking her head.

"Quit lookin' at the floor then."

She laughed abruptly. "Sure, and I won't look at the walls or the furniture either. Matter of fact, I'll just walk around with my eyes closed. It'll make everything a lot easier."

"Whatever floats your boat," he muttered.

Tim chuckled to himself, balling up the wrapper of his first burger and tossing it toward the take-out bag.

"Well, it doesn't matter," she said dismissively. "Tim and I will pick it out and you don't have to hear me argue the finer points of each one."

"Sounds good to me." He took a drag of his milkshake and raised an eyebrow. "You talked to Tyra lately?" he wondered. "Min's been squawking about how she doesn't call enough."

Julie dropped her gaze and frowned. "Um, I tried to call her a few times, but…" She shrugged, picking at her fries. "Busy, I guess."

Tim watched her, brows furrowed.

Julie was quiet after that, leaving Billy to fill in the silence with his own commentary about work and his kids, which he was always happy to do.

Finally, food all finished, Julie hopped up and gathered the garbage together.

"I better go. My break ends soon and I don't know how traffic's gonna be," she said.

Tim stood with her, walking her to the door.

"See ya Billy," Julie called back. "And thanks for all your help."

"Yeah, don't worry about it. And hey, thanks for lunch."

"Sure."

Once they were out in the hall, Tim shut the door and turned to her. "What's up?" he asked, tipping his head. "What's wrong?"

She offered a vague smile. "Nothing. I…"

He stared at her patiently.

She sighed. "I just… I called Tyra last week and… I told her we were seeing each other." She shrugged.

Tim looked away, nodding. "She didn't think too highly of it, 'm guessin'."

Julie chewed her lip and shook her head.

"She tell you to quit seein' me?"

"In not so many words…" Her eyes darted up to his. "She just… She's worried about me and she hasn't seen you in a while, so I think she had… She's just got these ideas about what you're like and…" An exasperated puff of breath left her. "She'll come around." She nodded decisively. "It's fine. Doesn't matter. I know Tyra and she'll be all hot air and radio silence and then she'll break down and answer my calls and… Yeah, we'll be fine."

He stared at her a long minute before finally nodding. "Okay."

"Okay." She smiled up at him. "What're you doing tonight?"

He half-grinned. "I know that look, Jules. So you tell me."

She reached for him and gave the front of his shirt a tug. "You're inviting me over for dinner tonight at your house, where I'm going to break out one of my mom's amazing recipes…" Her eyebrows hiked. "_Riiight?_"

He laughed under his breath. "You wanna come over for dinner tonight, Jules?"

She nodded, giving him a sweet smile. "I would love to."

After a kiss goodbye, she walked down the hall with him watching after her. When he walked back into the apartment, Billy was already back at work.

His brother took one look at him and snorted. "You wanna gimme a hand, Romeo?"

He wiped the dumb grin off his face and joined him.

Later that afternoon, after thanking his brother for helping him out, Tim stopped by the shop to see how things were going before closing up early. He went home to make sure it didn't look as much like a bachelor pad as he was pretty sure it did and tidied up as best he could. The rest of his afternoon was spent relaxing, watching Sports Center.

When he heard a honk outside, he smiled to himself and went out front to meet her. She had her trunk open and was grabbing out full bags. "I wasn't sure you had what I needed, so I picked up a few things," she explained.

He walked down the stairs to meet her, taking the bags out of her hands. "A few things?" He raised an eyebrow. "You got three bags here, Jules."

She shrugged. "Well, only one of them is what I need to make dinner, but while I was walking around, I remembered you saying something about being out of cereal and I remembered which kind you like and I was in the store, so…" She climbed the stairs to the porch and reached for the screen door, holding it open for him to walk through.

"Uh-huh, and the other stuff?"

He searched through the bags as he walked toward his kitchen.

"Just a few other things you mentioned. Oh, and I picked up dessert."

"Like the sound of that," he mused.

Julie handed him everything she didn't need for dinner for him to put away and then kicked him out of the kitchen. "Mom doesn't share her recipes," she explained.

He shook his head, amused, before grabbing a water out of the fridge and making himself comfortable on the couch.

After she got everything going and didn't need to have her eye on anything, she joined him, picking his feet up off the cushion and putting them in her lap as she leaned into the corner of the couch. "Did you guys get much done after I left?" she wondered.

He hummed, turning his head to look at her. "Finished pulling the linoleum up but then Mindy called and Billy had to take off home. Stopped by the shop, business as usual."

She nodded. "So does…" She paused, blushing, and shook her head.

"What?"

"No, it's stupid. Never mind."

He stared at her, eyebrow raised.

"I was just… I mean, I wondered if…" She sighed, rolling her eyes. "I just wanted to know if Billy likes me."

He blinked at her. "Huh?"

"Well, I… I mean, he's your brother and you two are close and I just… I don't know, I get the feeling sometimes that he doesn't really like me and I know I was a little annoying when we were picking out carpet, he made that pretty clear, but…" She chewed her lip. Defensively, she groaned, "I said it was stupid…"

"He likes you fine."

He could tell by the look on her face that 'fine' wasn't cutting it.

He sighed, reaching up to brush his hair back from his face. "Billy's just… He's… _concerned_."

"Concerned…" she said slowly, brow furrowed and eyes turned off. "About what, exactly?"

"I dunno." He shrugged. "That… You'll break my heart, I guess."

"And he expects this from me because…?" She shook her head expectantly.

"'Cause my track record with women isn't the greatest." He shrugged. "It's not you, Jules, he just… after everything with Lyla. Hell, with every woman I've ever been with… It always blows up in my face and he just… wants to be sure I'm not doin' the same old thing with the same old girls…"

"Oh." She stared down for a long moment. "So…" She looked over at him curiously. "Are you?"

He stared at her a long second before he shook his head, his face serious and sincere.

Her lips quirked up slightly. "Sometimes you say a lot without saying anything. Anyone ever tell you that?"

He half-smiled.

She pushed his feet off her lap and climbed up the couch to lie against his side. He brushed her hair out of her eyes and stroked it behind her ear.

"I think I wanted Billy to like me because he matters to you…" She picked at a button on his shirt. "Does that make sense?"

He nodded.

"Good." She sighed, pressing her face against his chest. "I just think it's important… I mean, I don't need our friends and family to support us, I just… I think it'd be nice."

He rubbed his hand up and down her back soothingly. "Billy'll come around," he assured. "Just maybe don't take him shopping again."

She laughed, the sound reverberating through his chest.

They laid there like that for a while, until the timer on the oven caught her attention and she had to get up to check on dinner.

It went off without a hitch; he set up the table he'd built himself while she served them out. Mrs. Coach was a killer cook and it seemed she'd rubbed off on her daughter. Julie was a talker, so she kept up most of the conversation, ranting a bit about a story she wanted to write but they wouldn't let her down at the paper, saying it was too 'controversial.' There was something about a riled up Julie Taylor that was even more attractive than usual; Tim was a happier man for witnessing it.

She helped him clean up, wiping down the table and the counters while he put the dishes away in the dishwasher. They spent the rest of the evening watching TV and cuddled up on the couch. He was a little sore from being bent over, tearing up linoleum all afternoon, so he was happy to relax with nothing but her in his arms and the sweet scent of her hair tingeing every breath he drew in.

He was half asleep and it was going on eleven when she had to head home; they both had work in the morning and he couldn't shake the feeling that her dad was waiting up for her. After a lingering kiss on the porch, he watched her drive off down the long driveway toward the road.

When he went back inside, he considered his options and knew what he had to do.

Rubbing his eyes of sleep, he grabbed up the phone and walked back out to the porch, taking a seat on his chair, feet kicked out in front of him. He had to call Billy's house first to get the number, but it didn't take much effort to find her.

She let it ring five times before picking up. "What d'you want?" she asked in an exasperated voice.

"She's different."

Tyra paused and then scoffed. "Right."

"Listen, I'm not gonna get into it with you. I know I was a shit boyfriend to you. I know I've done nothing but prove how much of a screw up I am for as long as you've known me. And I know you're gonna make up your own mind and there's nothing I can do to change it…"

"Right on all accounts, Tim. If this was a quiz, you'd be earning your first A."

He laughed under his breath. "Even knowin' all that, I'm still gonna try."

"Yeah, well, you always were stubborn..."

He smiled to himself, staring out over the dark field in front of him, nothing but the porch light around him to highlight anything. "I'm not the same person I was… I changed some things, been workin' some stuff out…" He ground his teeth, uncomfortable discussing this with her, and cleared his throat. "Look, all I'm sayin' is… I'm tryin' with Julie. I won't make the same mistakes."

She was quiet a long moment before finally, she asked, "Is that all?"

He nodded, even though she couldn't see him. "She misses you… Billy brought you up and she got sad."

"That happens when your best friend does something stupid and you can't talk them out of it. You get mad, you give 'em the silent treatment, and you hope they smarten the hell up…" She snorted. "But if I know anything about the Riggins' charm, it's that it doesn't wear off quick enough."

He tilted his head back and frowned. "You don't hafta like me, Tyra… I just want Julie to have her best friend."

A few seconds of silence passed before she said, "Yeah, fine, are we done here?"

"Yeah."

"Great. Nice catchin' up with ya," she said sarcastically, before the dial tone filled his ear.

Sighing, he hung up.

He couldn't say it went better than he'd hoped, but at least better than he expected.

It would have to do.

Julie wanted their friends and family, the people that mattered to them, to support them. He couldn't make Tyra do anything. But he thought maybe reaching out, letting her know that he was trying here, might change her mind a little.

He did what he could, now it was up to her.

[**Next**: vi.]


End file.
